Soul Cages
by Foxieglove
Summary: The time for war is fast approaching, and woe to those caught in the middle. Hook and Pan have both succumbed to Arizael's will. Things are going downhill fast, but is killing Arizael the way to stop her? (cont. from "Storm Begins")
1. Soul Cages 1

A/N: Hi, it's me Dendraica. I'm posting this story under my new pen-name Foxglove33, so don't be alarmed. ;) I haven't stolen anything unless it's possible to steal from myself! LOL. Anyhoo, hope you all enjoy the continuation to The Storm Begins 1 - 11! More will come hopefully soon! :)  
  
  


**Soul Cages**

Dawn found its way through the cracks in the loose stones of the entrance to the cave, streaming rays of light across the bodies of three sleeping children.  
  
Not too far away, a tall black man rested with his head pillowed on his arm and a blanket around his shoulders, while yet another man slept fitfully beside the children, moaning as landsickness filled his dreams with troubled thoughts.  
  
Maegie stirred and drowsily lifted her head, brushing stray red-gold spirals away from her eyelids. She opened her eyes and saw the light of the sun through one of the cracks in the makeshift rock wall.  
  
"Daylight . . . urgh . . ." she muttered, and let her head drop again to lie against Jukes' flank. She really didn't want to wake up. _And if I'm this tired, I don't know how the others will keep from sleeping all day. They had a rougher time than I. It was only the walk up the mountainside that wore me out._  
  
Maegie held her breath so she could hear Jukes and Slightlys' soft breathing. She smiled and closed her eyes, letting the sound lull her back to sleep. On her other side, Slightly rolled over and Maegie felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, holding her like one would a stuffed animal. Maegie grumbled and moved a little to try and disengage herself from Slightly's arm. He only held on tighter, murmuring in his sleep. Maegie lifted his arm and gently, so as not to wake the Lost Boy, shifted away from him to lay facing Jukes.  
  
"Good morning," she heard him whisper, just as she was about to drift back to sleep.  
  
"G' mornin," she answered, just as softly. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"  
  
"Slightly."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"No, I mean Slightly. He did."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"A few hours ago, he was having a nightmare. I woke him out of it, then we talked for a while and he drifted back to sleep."  
  
"But you've been awake since?" Maegie asked, concerned.  
  
"I'm too nervous to fall asleep again," Jukes admitted. "I'm half-expecting the cave wall to go crumbling down and Hook to come marching through."  
  
Maegie touched his arm gently. "I take it you had some nightmares of your own?"  
  
"If I did, I mercifully don't remember them."  
  
They were both silent for a while. Maegie closed her eyes to keep the small but insistent rays of sun from jarring her awake completely. "Maegie?" she heard Jukes ask.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Where do we go from here? I mean, what now? I've been thinking about it almost all morning."  
  
"I don't know. But we'll all think of something; you don't have to do it on your own."  
  
"I don't feel like sleeping any more. I kind of want to get up." Jukes began to sit up.  
  
"Aren't you tired?" she asked, surprised, raising herself up on one elbow.  
  
"Yes. But also worried. Nevermind --" Billy sighed, lying back down, "It appears I won't be going anywhere for a while longer."  
  
Slightly was lying with his head on Jukes' legs, pinning him down. Jukes was tempted to yank his legs away, but after all Slightly had done for him yesterday, he didn't have the heart to give the Lost Boy such a rude awakening.  
  
Maegie grinned."Guess you might as well catch some more sleep."  
  
"I wish I could."  
  
"There's little chance of Hook finding us here. Even our footprints must have been washed out by the rain."  
  
"Sooner or later, we're going to have to come out. For water. And food. What then?"  
  
Maegie wanted to console him, but she could not think of an answer.  
  


* * *

  
The Jolly Roger was in an uproar come morning. When the pirates came to from their drunken stupors to find Jukes, Cecco, Slightly, and even the Turncoat gone, a hasty conference was called, and lots were drawn to pick the unfortunate man who would have to break news to the Captain.  
  
As the unlucky and miserable Starkey headed toward Hook's cabin and knocked on the door, the men shivered in anticipation. The hype of their terror was not disappointed. Hook's reaction to the news sent a flock of Neverbirds flying away from the rocks of the pirate's lagoon, shrieking in panicked disorder.  
  
"_What do you mean, gone?!_" Hook was roaring. "What cozening is this? How did they escape, you miserable dogs?!"  
  
The pirates looked at one another. Maegie and Mullins had also been discovered gone to mystery, but things were bad enough without mentioning _that_.  
  
"Load the longboats," Hook snarled. "Peter Pan must've come for them . . . of course, it was Pan! The sniveling brat must always manage to escape when I have him at the tip of my claw! Well not this time! I have come too far to give up now . . . I _will_ find his house, with or without Jukes' help . . . even if I have to kill every creature -" Hook's eyes were beginning to darken - "pull every tree up by the roots--" Hook's irises were now black as ink and the darkness was still spreading - "and turn Neverland into a wasteland of corpses and barren earth, _I will find Peter Pan!!!_" the pirate captain screamed to the sky.  
  
Hook's eyes were now completely darkened, the irises, the whites . . . everything. The men were terrified; no longer was anything human standing before him. Fear struck to their very hearts, and as they held life dear, they knew better than to disobey his slightest whim.  
  
With cries of obedience, the men fled to the longboats on both the Galleliea and the Jolly Roger and began lowering them into the water. Hook scarcely payed attention to their labors, instead fixing his dark, unnatural eyes on the horizon, daring Peter to show himself in daylight.  
  
And from her lair high on Witch's Peak, Arizael watched and smiled with delight.  
  


* * *

  
Unknowing that Hook and his men were headed toward the mainland at that very moment, Jukes and Mullins were embroiled in an argument. Upon awakening, it was discovered that food was not a problem, but water was. There were only three canteens for five people. That wouldn't last them very long at all. Someone was going to have to go down the mountainside and gather more water at the base of the hill.  
  
"Lad, listen, it's true we need water, but you ain't ever gonna set foot out of this cave, d'ye hear me?"  
  
"Why not? I can be quick--"  
  
"I don't care if yer quick as a grasshopper, yer not going. Yer covered in wounds and you need to get over 'em. _I'm_ going."  
  
"You?! But you're wounded too!"  
  
"I ken handle it."  
  
"Not with your landsickness."  
  
Mullins sighed sharply. "I am _not_ going to sit here while ye risk your neck to get water. You could fall, lad, an break your neck, and --"  
  
"So could you," Billy said gently. "But I won't be walking."  
  
"Huh?" Mullins asked, scratching his head.  
  
"Me and Slightly can fly right down there, grab some water, and be up before anyone knows it."  
  
"Flyin?! Good gods, I thought ye'd forgotten how to by now! You've been in that brig for so long . . . wait a minute, how come ya walked us all up the mountainside last night then?"  
  
"Well, we couldn't just leave you behind, now could we? That would be slightly rude, I think!" Slightly chimed in. "And it was slightly raining, not the best of weather for flying."  
  
"It would've been way too hard to carry you three, under those conditions."  
  
Mullins stroked his mustache. "I see." He sighed sharply, then. "You promise me you'll be fast? No lollygagging about?"  
  
"Promise," said Jukes, grinning.  
  
"I'm coming too," said Maegie.  
  
"Lass, they can't carry both you and the water back up, now can they?" Mullins said, practically.  
  
Embarrassed, Maegie lowered her head. "No, I don't suppose they can." She felt silly; there was no reason for her to go except to keep them company. That and she just didn't want to be left out.  
  
"It'll only be for a couple of minutes. Then we'll be right back, honest," Jukes consoled her. He reached out and playfully tugged a ringlet of her hair. Maegie flipped her long tresses back over her shoulder, glaring and half-smiling at the same time.  
  
"Don't pull my hair."  
  
"But it's shiny! How can I help myself?" he teased her. His face grew solemn. "Hey Maegie, you better not step outside of the cave today. Hook'll be able to pick out that flaming red hair like another sun."  
  
"Oh shut up, you!" Maegie laughed, giving him a shove toward the cave opening.  
  


* * *

  
"Father?" Tiger Lily called from outside Chief Panther's tipi. "Father, Hard-to-Hit and I are going out to dig up some roots. Is that allright?"  
  
"I'm not going to dig roots! She can, but I'm going hunting!" said Hard-to-Hit.  
  
Tiger Lily rolled her eyes.  
  
Chief Panther drew back the flap to the tipi. "If you're going, you better take weapons. I had a bad premonition . . ."  
  
"What happened?" Tiger Lily asked, concerned for her father. "How tired you look! Are you allright?"  
  
"I am fine, Tiger Lily. Both of you stay within sight of each other. And come back before dark."  
  
Both children nodded, and ran off to collect their bows and arrows. Chief Panther sighed as he watched them. He let his mind wander back to the disturbing vision he had gotten, a vision of tears falling along with blood . . . an immense grief caused by a violent rage. He saw a shape of a boy standing between two battling entities, trying to separate them.  
  
"I have never had a dream like this . . . whatever can it mean?" the shaman mused. He turned around and walked back into his home to think more on it.  
  


* * *

  
Just as Slighty had told him, they found the waterfall's pool within a grove of trees, all but completely hidden from view.   
  
Billy splashed some of the trickling water on his face, then leaned backwards to get his hair wet. Slightly laughed. "I thought we were getting some water, not bathing!"  
  
"Well excuse me, mister, but you weren't in a rat-infested brig for a week with no way of keeping clean." Jukes shook off the excess water, purposely making sure some of it landed on Slightly, who scowled at him.  
  
"I see you're aching for another splash war."  
  
"Yeah, but we can't. We've gotta get some water up to the cave and quickly. Mullins won't be very happy if we're playing around down here while they're worrying for our safety."  
  
"Oh, but of course you could spare time to take a shower," Slightly argued, good-naturedly. He grinned suddenly. "I think it's because you want to impress Maaaegie!"  
  
"Now stop that!"Jukes warned. But it was too late; Slightly had already started singing.  
  
"Billy and Maegie sitting in a tree--"  
  
"Quit it!"  
  
"K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"  
  
"Slightly, so help me . . ."  
  
"First comes looove . . ."  
  
"Slightly! Cut that out!"  
  
"Then comes marriage . . ."  
  
"All right, _that's it!_"  
  
"Then comes a -- YEOW!!!"  
  
Billy didn't even let Slightly finish the song before tackling him, landing them both in the water.  
  


* * *

  
Maegie looked out of the cave entrance, trying to see if she could spot the two boys. It had only been ten minutes; surely something couldn't have gone wrong in such a short time?  
  
"Do you see anything?" asked Cecco.  
  
"No. The trees are too tall for me to see where they've gone," she answered. Maegie looked over to the sparkling horizon of Neverland's ocean and gasped as she saw movement. A small fleet of longboats were stead-fastedly rowing towards shore. "Hook's coming!" she cried. "I have to warn them!"  
  
Cecco leapt to his feet. "I'll go find them," he volunteered.  
  
"No! Let the girl go," said Mullins. "She's small enough to hide if they need to take cover from Hook. Come here, lass!"  
  
Maegie was at his side in the next instant, and her eyes widened when he handed her a dagger. "Take this weapon, ye may need it. Although I hope it don't come to that. Just find them two kids and get yerselves up here! No heroics!"  
  
"I promise, Mullins," she called over her shoulder as she darted from the cave.  
  


* * *

  
"Fan out," growled Hook, drawing his cutlass. "You men search everywhere, and if you find any children, bring them to me. I want the privilige of slitting their throats myself."  
  
"Aye Captain," was the chorus of assent.  
  
While Alf Mason, One-Eye, Brine, and Cookson hauled the longboats ashore, the other pirates stalked across the sandy beach to enter the looming forest.  
  


* * *

  
It wasn't until after both of them were dripping wet when they realized they had better fly up to the cave as soon as possible. "They must be worried sick about us and we're soaked! This is gonna be slightly hard to explain. Why'd you have to go and knock both of us in the water for?"  
  
Jukes tied up the last waterbag and glowered at Slightly. "Why'd _you_ have ta go and tease me for? I swear, I was blushing so badly I almost caught afire. Don't _do_ that to me!"   
  
Slightly burst out laughing.  
  
"Anyway, we'll just say we, ah . . . fell in."  
  
The boys were prepared to fly back up to the cave, when they heard a frightened voice call their names.  
  
"Billy! Slightly!" Looking terrified and out of breath, Maegie burst through the shield of ferns and bracken. Slipping in the wet mud, she would have met a fate equal to that of Jukes and Slightly's dripping garments, had Billy not caught her in his arms before she fell into the pool.  
  
"Oy, what's wrong? You okay, Maegie?" Jukes asked, seeing the fear in her storm-blue eyes.  
  
"Hook --" she started to warn them, just as the Captain of the Jolly Roger slashed through the remaining plants obscuring his way to stand before them.  
  


* * *

  
"We're lost," muttered One-Eye, looking about him uneasily.  
  
"Ah, now ye tell me when I've been following you!" Brine snapped. Alf Mason, Smee, and Starkey had been separated from their group when they'd heard something beyond a copse of strange-looking trees with moving vines. They hadn't been heard from since.  
  
Delighted laughter filled the air and both One-Eye and Brine spun around. "What's that?" Brine demanded.  
  
"Must be demons . . . or worse, those flyin' kids!"  
  
"Peter Pan, actually," laughed the young sprite, suddenly hanging upside down from a tree-branch before the two terrified pirates.  
  
"Jee-hosephat!" yelped One-Eye, drawing his sword.   
  
Peter was faster and he had his dagger ready before One-Eye even got his weapon out of the scabbard.  
  
"Where're Jukes and Slightly?" Peter demanded. "Tell me, and I'll go easy on you both!"  
  
"We can take him, One-Eye, don't be a fool! He's only a little brat!" Brine whispered.  
  
"A flyin' brat! With magic fairy dust; I ain't gonna go against that!" the pirate hissed back to his comrade.  
  
"Hook's orders were to capture any flyin' kids. Here's one, let's capture it!"  
  
"I'm still waiting for an answer. Where're the boys you have prisoner?"  
  
"They escaped."  
  
"Escaped? How?"  
  
"One of the wenches - Maegie's her name--"  
  
"Shh! Why you tellin' him, One-Eye? We supposed ta be fightin', not conversatin with him!"  
  
"So they're not leading Hook to my house?" Peter asked, puzzlement clear on his young face.  
  
"Well apparently bloody-not, kid. We wouldn't all be stranded like beads from a broken necklace if Hook had someplace for us to be!" snapped Brine.  
  
Pan smirked. "Thank you, gentlemen. You've been most helpful." The boy darted off and out of the pirate's sight.  
  
"We helped him? How'd we help him? We weren't supposed to help him . . ."  
  
Brine groaned at One-Eye. "No, really, ya think? Let's just get outta this g'fersaken place before anything else happens!"  
  


* * *

  
The three children were frozen, not even able to cry out. Jukes forced himself to snap out of the trance of fear, and glared defiantly at Hook. The Captain's eyes appeared to be shadowed under his hat, giving him an even more frightening countenance.  
  
Hook, likewise frozen, but only from surprise at finding them so soon, drew his cutlass and Jukes' hand darted for his own sword. Only to remember that it was still on the Jolly Roger, having been stripped of his weapons during his confinement in the brig. Slightly had lost his own sword the same way and he silently cursed its loss.  
  
Jukes felt something press into his hand and Maegie backed away. Without looking, he identified it as Mullins' dagger, and his hand tightened around the hilt.  
  
"Leave us alone," he warned, trying to make his voice low and threatening. Hook laughed cruelly.  
  
"So Peter Pan didn't rescue you . . . you rescued yourself. Clever. Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn't mean to give you all the credit, Mr. Jukes. I'm sure you couldn't have done it without the help of that red-haired harlot."  
  
Maegie's eyes widened in fury and she stepped forward. Jukes flung out an arm to keep her back. "Don't let him bait you, Maegie," he said. Inside, he felt a surge of fury and bewilderment. What was going on? Had Hook really sunk far enough to insult a woman, something the gentlemanly Captain didn't ever seem capable of doing before?  
  
Hook raised his cutlass, preparing for an attack. Jukes frowned. The Captain was on the defense, meaning he was expecting Jukes to attack _him_. Surely the Captain didn't think he was stupid enough to leap into a duel against a cutlass and an iron hook while armed only with a dagger?  
  
"Come on, boy. Attack me! I'll kill you anyway, but at least I'm giving you an option other than dying like a cringing coward."  
  
"I'm not afraid of you," snarled Jukes.  
  
"Then attack me. I challenge you!"  
  
"You're enjoying yourself slightly too much, I think," muttered the Lost Boy. Hook's attention snapped toward Slightly and Maegie. He smiled.  
  
"I grow weary of this stand-still. If you will not fight me, you will watch your friends die!" growled Hook, ferally lunging past Jukes toward Maegie and Slightly.  
  
"_No!_" This motivated Jukes into action and he grabbed Hook's arm, holding on and digging his heels into the soft earth, trying to stop as the Captain's weight carried him forward towards his intended victims. Slightly and Maegie darted underneath the sweep of Hook's blade easily as Jukes' interference was making it difficult for Hook to use his arm properly. With a snarl, Hook turned on the boy, elbowing him hard in the face. Jukes cried out in pain as black stars burst in his head. He fell to his knees, overcome with dizzyness. Hook was towering above him and the boy closed his eyes, preparing for death.  
  
"Wait your turn, Jukes. First your friends, then you." Hook lunged once again towards Maegie and Slightly.  
  
Maegie made a dash to the right, and Slightly to the left. Hook's blade went right and Maegie screamed as she felt a sharp pain slice across her back. She stumbled and fell to the ground. Grinning, Hook walked forward to finish her off. Jukes' eyes widened in horror. He tried to get to his feet, but fell back to his knees, slipping in the mud. Maegie had only one chance left . . .   
  
"Hook!" Jukes yelled, trying to draw the attention on himself. The Captain did not turn, but instead raised his sword over Maegie's form.  
  
Jukes did not want to do this, but it was either Hook or Maegie . . . he took careful aim and threw the dagger, its point flashing toward Hook's back. It might not kill him, but it would stop him before he harmed any of his friends.  
  
The Captain whipped around and deflected the dagger with his cutlass, without even breaking a sweat. "What the . . . ?" There was no way Hook could have humanly sensed that dagger coming.  
  
He leered triumphantly at Jukes then turned back toward Maegie. "Say goodbye to your young wench, Jukes!" he laughed, raising his sword again.  
  
"NO!!!" Jukes struggled to his feet and charged toward Hook. A brown blur shot past and beat him to his target.  
  
"Leave her alone, Codfish!" There was the clash of steel upon steel and Pan floated above Maegie, his sword keeping Hook's blade away from her skin. Hook stepped back.  
  
"Peter Pan," he growled, a strange note of satisfaction in his voice. "Your entrails will make a worthy stain on my sword."  
  
"Ew, Codfish, must you be so gory about it? Whatever happened to all that gentleman talk?"  
  
Jukes moved quickly to Maegie's side and helped her sit up. "Are you okay?" he asked her as the fight between Peter and Hook raged on.  
  
"Y-yeah . . . it just hurts a little."  
  
Jukes took his hand away from her back and saw that both were covered in blood. "We have to get you to a doctor."  
  
"Yeah, and slightly sooner than later," declared Slightly, peering anxiously at Maegie who was growing paler by the minute.  
  
Behind them, Peter cried out in surprise and pain. He flew up a few feet above Hook, examining the new wound the Captain had given him. A horizontal slash was cut into his thigh. "You win the first blood, Hook. But I'll win the second!"  
  
Peter swooped down and his sword flashed. Hook did not make a sound, but Jukes, Slightly and Maegie gasped when they saw black liquid splatter across both Peter's sword and Peter's face. Peter wiped at his face and frowned. "Why are you carrying an ink bottle in your clothes, Codfish?"  
  
"I . . . I don't think that's ink, Peter," Slightly said, breathlessly.  
  
Only one word managed to work it's way into Juke's mind: Arizael. She had to be behind this! There was no other explanation . . . but what on earth was her purpose?  
  
Hook put his hook against the scratch Peter had given him and let the dark unnatural blood stain the iron claw. He did not seem affected by his wound in the least, while Peter was still wincing from the sharpness of the cut on his leg.  
  
Hook raised his blade again, and the fight resumed.  
  
"Come on," Jukes said, lifting Maegie in his arms.  
  
"I can walk, it's okay," Maegie said, softly.  
  
"But----"  
  
Jukes was interrupted by Peter's scream of pain. He saw the leader of the Lost Boys dart backwards in the air, holding his side which was streaming with red blood . . . and black blood as well. Hook smiled and calmly wiped the red stain on his hook off with his cloak. Peter crashed against one of the trees and slumped to the ground. Whatever wound Hook had given him, it had been deep. But as long as Peter was still alive, Hook's revenge was not finished.  
  
The Captain strode purposefully to the wounded boy, and Slightly cried out and ran forward as well. "Slightly!" Jukes warned him, helplessly. He began to put Maegie down to run after his best friend, when Hook cried out in fury. A flurry of arrows pelted him, keeping him from walking any closer to Peter. Slightly grabbed Peter by the arms and dragged him clear of the tree. The arrows were not aimed to kill; tearing more cloth than flesh. Hook growled, distracted from his prey, and concentrating on shielding himself.  
  
Jukes cried aloud as a pair of hands clamped down on his shoulders and spun him around. "Jukes! Let's go, lad!" Mullins yelled. "Now while we still 'ave the chance!" Cecco had picked up Peter and slung the now-unconscious boy over his shoulder. With Maegie, Jukes and Slightly in tow, they made a quick exit out of the grove of trees.  
  
Maegie stumbled often from fatigue and the loss of blood and Jukes and Slightly had to keep her from fainting more than once. It was adrenaline more than anything else that kept them going; although they knew not where they were headed. Fear was spurring them on mercilessly.  
  
Mullins came to a sudden halt and held out his hands to stop the others. "I hear somethin' . . ."  
  
Sure enough, the cries of men could be heard coming from a copse of trees. Were-trees. "Sounds like Mason . . . an Smee . . . an Starkey; yeah, I can recognize that squealin' o' Starkey's anywhere."  
  
"But aren't they after us?" asked Cecco.  
  
"Lissen, they're our only chance. I don' think neither I nor the lassie can run any further an ye can't carry three people."  
  
"Will they help us if we help them?" Maegie panted, doubled over for breath.  
  
"That's what I'm hopin."   
  
"Look after 'em, Slightly," Cecco told the Lost Boy, setting Peter down in a patch of soft moss.  
  
Mullins drew his sword and Jukes took the dagger strapped to Peter's leg. Cecco had his own sword out, and together, the three men ran toward the Were-trees.  
  
Alf Mason, Starkey, and Smee were freed soon after. Slightly, sitting by Maegie and Peter, jumped to his feet when he heard grumbling and arguments coming his way.  
  
"The Cap'n gave us orders," sniffed Starkey. "You're to come with us, unless you want to fight."  
  
"There's no way in hell we're goin' back there!" argued Jukes.  
  
"Watch yer language, lad. Starkey, have ye _seen_ Hook?! He's a demon, I'm tellin' ya! No good can come from following that man!"  
  
"That's a song I've heard sung by you many times, Robert Mullins," Starkey said.  
  
"No, he means it this time!" Jukes put in. "There is seriously something wrong with Hook."  
  
"Next, Billy Jukes, you'll be saying 'there's evil in it'."  
  
"Don't ye be tellin' me there's anythin' wrong with the Cap'n, you two scoundrels! Me Captain is as fit as a fiddle, an I ain't going to abandon him without a right good cause!" Smee piped up.  
  
Jukes, by this time, had reached Slightly, Maegie, and Peter ahead of the others. "Do you have his sword, Slightly?"  
  
"Yes, I grabbed it. Knew Peter would get furious if I just left it behind." Slightly pulled the sword from his belt and handed it to Jukes. The black blood was not yet dry, but it eerily clung to the blade without dripping. Jukes walked toward the other pirates who were still embroiled in the argument.  
  
"I think we oughta help 'em!" rumbled Mason. "Jukes an' the Lost Boys saved our lives an Hook threw the lad in the brig, an even flogged 'em, while we stood aroun' an did nothin! We owe them, that's what!"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Mason. Hook will do the same to us if we mutiny."  
  
"Keel-haul me! How can ye still say no after they saved our lives from those infernal Were-trees?"  
  
"Nobody's asking you to mutiny. Just help us," Cecco pleaded. "We are all exhausted and we need treatment for those of us who are wounded."  
  
"Anythin' against the Cap'n orders is still mutiny! I'd sooner die then go against me Cap'n, an' any man who does otherwise is going ta get tickled with Johnny Corkscrew!"  
  
"Which happens at the moment to be wedged in a Were-tree branch," Jukes said, dryly. "You wanna run back and get it, feel more than welcome."  
  
"What the 'ell is that?" cried Alf Mason, staring at the dark-stained sword in Jukes' hands.  
  
"This the blood of the Captain."  
  
"It . . . I . . . that's what came from his wound?" Starkey sputtered, dumbfounded.  
  
"Bejeepers, an' I always thought blood was red . . ." murmured Smee, scratching his head.  
  
"It is, Smee," Mason muttered. "Keel-haul me . . . that really came outta the Cap'n?"  
  
"Slightly, Maegie, and I all saw it. Something's wrong with Hook, guys. I don't know what, but I know it's starting to take control over him. If you all value your lives, don't go back to the Jolly Roger."  
  
"Now yer tellin us ta jump ship?!" Smee cried. "Never on me life would I abandon the Cap'n! I promised ta serve him till me dyin day!"  
  
"Then that day may arrive shortly." The coldness in Juke's voice froze Smee to the very core. "Go back if you must. I'm only trying to tell you that the Captain your so focused on serving faithfully is in the grips of a sorceress. Arizael is behind this . . . she has to be!"  
  
"The lad's right! The Captain was fine before she came ta Neverland . . ."  
  
"I have to agree with you, Mason. It looks like we're temporarily out of this childish skirmish . . . and into something much more dreadful," Starkey murmured. He sighed. "Very well, we'll help you."  
  
Smee was more puzzled than anything. He did not want to abandon Hook . . . what if nothing was wrong? And that blood . . . it meant the Captain was wounded! Hook would need Smee's help . . .  
  
"I . . . I'm goin' ta find him . . . can't let me Cap'n die from those wounds Peter gave him."  
  
"Smee, now listen --"  
  
"I be tellin ya, I won't be disloyal to my Captain for any reason! If he kills me, I'll be dyin loyal."  
  
"And you will cause him grief when he returns to his senses," Jukes shot back.  
  
Smee was taken aback. Hook would grieve for him?   
  
"He may not show it, but I'm sure he would at least _feel_ pain if he harmed someone as loyal as you unintentionally. Smee, if you don't want to help us, I understand. But at least stay clear of him until . . . _if_ . . . we free him from Arizael's hold."  
  
"I . . . I ken see the sense in that, Bill Jukes." Smee looked forlorn, but then he shook his head and gathered his resolve. "I'll help ya for the sake of the lass, there, an nothin' more, ye understand me? The Cap'n always did have a soft spot for ladies, what with bein' the gentleman that he is an' I intend ta do 'im proud."  
  
Maegie smiled at him warmly. "Thank you, Mr. Smee," she said as the bosun gently helped her stand up.  
  
"I say the best bet would be th' Indian camp," Mullins said. "But we don't know how ta get there from where we are now."  
  
"We do," spoke a voice from the inner depths of the forest.  
  
"Who's there, now?" Smee demanded. Starkey and Mason's hands went for their swords, but Slightly cried out in recognition.  
  
"It's okay! It's Hard-to-Hit, I'm slightly sure!"  
  
"Only slightly?" Starkey worried.  
  
Hard-to-Hit stepped out of the shadows, followed by Tiger Lily. They were carrying bows and arrows and although the young Indians must have run quickly to catch up with them, they didn't appear out of breath in the least. "We drove Hook off; he ran when he realized you six were gone. Went off to find you, I think," said Tiger Lily.  
  
"You saved our lives with those arrows!"  
  
"You'd better come with us. He could be anywhere. The forest is frightfully still . . . no birds chirping or anything . . ."  
  
Hard-to-Hit was right, the forest _was_ too quiet. "Let's go then," said Cecco. Mason slung Peter over his back and Cecco lifted Maegie in his arms. Starkey and Smee flanked the men carrying the wounded children like guards of honor.  
  
As they followed Tiger Lily and Hard-to-Hit, Jukes chanced to look up and saw a lone robin sitting in a treebranch, void of any other bird companions. It opened it's beak and sang a high song, clear and echoing emptily throughout the woods. At the sound of it's lonesome voice, Jukes could not help but shudder.  
  


_To Be Continued . . ._

  
  



	2. Soul Cages 2

Maegie groaned and tensed her shoulders as she felt the Chief's hands apply a healing salve to her back. She laid on her chest on a bed of furs, barely conscious to the world. She had drifted off once or twice into a zone of darkness while the pirates had been carrying her to the Indian camp. She remembered the worried faces of Slightly, Mullins, Cecco, and Jukes looking over at her, touching her face and hands to see if she was alright.   
  
She didn't know where they were now; probably outside. She was naked to her waist; her blood-stained, long-sleeved blouse draped over a chair beside the bed. She felt a faint twinge of embarrassment, then told herself firmly that there was no use for it. She was hurt and in order to treat her wound, her upper torso needed to be bare. Besides, she wasn't in the mood to be embarrassed. Her head hurt, her back stung, and she wanted to sleep, but she couldn't because of the pain.  
  
Outside, she heard male voices arguing over something. One of them was Cecco's voice. She could not make out exactly what they were talking about, but she knew it must concern Captain Hook. Then she heard Peter Pan mentioned, and her thoughts turned to the boy lying still on the bed across from hers. She saw that his wounds had been bandaged, but that his chest rose softly, indicating that he was still alive. But all did not appear to be well.  
  
He moaned lightly, and whimpered in fear at his dreams. Maegie could almost swear she saw his limbs shaking. "Does he have a fever?" she asked, raising her head a little.  
  
She could not see the Chief's expression, but she felt his hands stop in the middle of coating her wound with the salve. "It is not a fever," he said simply, and continued. "I'm afraid it's something much worse."  
  
"He's not going to die, is he?"  
  
"No. I don't think he will. But I sense a great evil taking over him. I fear more for his soul than his body."  
  
"Was it . . . that dark blood?"  
  
The Chief gasped and Maegie heard a clatter as the bowl of salve fell from his fingertips. She almost sat up in alarm, but upon remembering her unclothed condition, stayed where she was. "What is it?" she asked, alarmed.  
  
"Did you say 'dark blood'?"  
  
"Aye . . . Captain Hook was bleeding from a wound -- his blood was as black as pitch. While he and Peter were fighting, he coated his hook in his discolored blood and managed to stab Peter . . ." Maegie trailed off when she saw Chief Panther's face.  
  
"This is most serious. Do you know if -- no, you need rest. I will ask the ones that brought you." Chief Panther draped a blanket over Maegie's body and she closed her eyes, grateful for its warmth.  
  


* * *

  
"I say, this is ridiculous! Why we helping Peter Pan? We should go in there and slit his gullet! Then when we get Hook back to normal, we can leave this place!" Starkey muttered.  
  
"Aye, I'm half-agreein' with you. I see no need for keeping that brat alive. But we's in Indian territory now and the Indians aren't gonna take too kindly if we kill their friend, now are they?" Mullins answered calmly. "I think one of the only reasons they haven't scalped us by now is 'cause we brought Peter to them unharmed." Starkey bowed his head, accepting this logic.  
  
Sitting down with his back leaning against the entrance to the Chief's lodge, Slightly listened in, then turned to Jukes to see if his friend was also eavesdropping. Billy was merely staring at the ground. If he heard the pirates talking, he gave no indication.  
  
"So what now, then?" Mason asked.  
  
"Huh?" Robert Mullins asked, looking up from examining his sword.  
  
"What now?  
  
"Th' hell if I know. Why you askin' me for?"  
  
It was now Alf Mason's turn to be surprised. "The way you were tellin us ta help you . . . shiver me, I thought ye had some plan formed ta get Hook back."  
  
Robert and Cecco exchanged glances.  
  
"The only way ta deal with a witch is ta kill her," Mullins grumbled, at length. "That's our plan. It ain't sure to work, but what else is there to do?"  
  
"Will killin' this witch bring back th' Cap'n?" Smee wanted to know.  
  
"Dunno. I've heard of spells bein' lifted when the witch died. In fairytales," Mullins said, thoughtfully.  
  
"Well, this is Neverland. Fairytales is all it's made of," Starkey replied.  
  
"This ain't no fairytale, Starkey. That witch means business. She's straight from hell, she is. There's no way any kid coulda dreamed her up."  
  
"Any plans on how to kill her?"  
  
"A steel blade through her belly would do it nicely. Not to say it'll be easy. This isn't a defenseless old hag we's talkin about. She's got some serious powers goin' for her if she can control Hook."  
  
Slightly nudged Jukes, who hadn't looked up once during the pirates' conversation. "You allright?" he whispered.  
  
Billy did not make eye contact with him. "I'm worried about Maegie. She never would've been wounded if we'd been quicker."  
  
Slightly felt an equal pang of guilt. "You're right," he whispered back. "We could have been slightly more careful."  
  
"We can't make any more mistakes like this. She could have been killed. All of us could have."  
  
Tears were dancing in Billy's eyes. Slightly's expression turned to tender concern and he was reaching out to comfort Jukes when shouts overhead made them both look up sharply.  
  
The Lost Boys floated down to stand before them, their weapons drawn as they eyed the original crew of the Jolly Roger warily.  
  
A pink flash of light zoomed toward Billy and Slightly. "Where is he?" cried Tinkerbell. She flapped her wings frantically. "Where is Peter?! If he's died---"  
  
Something broke within the fairy and her wings froze, causing her to drift down as she wept, heartsick. Billy moved forward to catch her before she hit the ground. Nestled in his hands, Tinkerbell continued to cry.  
  
"He's still alive," Jukes said, gently, feeling sorry for her and touched by her devotion to him. "Just wounded."  
  
He yelped then as he received a very hard pixie-bite on his finger. Tinkerbell flitted away from him, surrounded by a red light of anger.  
  
"_Just_ wounded? I oughta _just wound_ you!" she yelled, grief strangling her voice.  
  
Jukes flinched. "Tinkerbell, calm down--"  
  
"Don't you _dare_ tell me to calm down!" Tink yelled back.   
  
"Billy has a point, Tink. I never saw you so angry before . . ." Slightly muttered. Caught up in her anger, Tinkerbell turned on him.  
  
"You're just as much at fault! Attacking a pirate ship on your own?! You should have known you could never do it! I'm wondering if Peter wasn't right in banishing you."  
  
The words hit Slightly like a blow to the stomach and he paled. "Banished?"  
  
"Yes. Peter banished you forever when he heard of what you did. You have your 'friend' Jukes to thank for it. I hope you like the pirates now, because that's who you belong with, traitor!"  
  
Shocked, the other Lost Boys stood still as they listened to Tinkerbell's outburst. Slightly turned to them, bewildered. "Is it true?"  
  
"I . . . I'm afraid so, Slightly," Wendy said, her eyes downcast.  
  
"We tried to talk Peter out of it . . ." Tootles said, softly. "But he wouldn't listen."  
  
His eyes brimming over with tears, Slightly looked down at the ground. _No,_ he told himself firmly. _I will not cry . . ._ An uncooperative tear slid out of his eye and dropped to the ground. Slightly felt the stares of the Lost Boys, Indians, and pirates all staring at him. It was more than he could bear. Without another word, he took off running towards the open arms of the forest.  
  
"Slightly!" Bill cried out in alarm, starting after his best friend Nibs flew after him and took hold of his elbow.  
  
"Leave him, Jukes. I know him and he won't be in the mood to talk to you or anybody," said Nibs. Billy twisted his arm out of the boy's grip.  
  
"If you know him, then why did you just stand by while Tinkerbell called him a traitor? You know that's not true!" Jukes yelled, glaring at the other Lost Boys.  
  
"If he hadn't gone off alone, none of this would have happened!" Nibs replied.  
  
"Well, if going after a friend who's in danger when nobody else seemed _interested_ enough makes someone a traitor, then yes, Slightly _is_ one. And I'd rather have a traitor for my friend than a boy who doesn't care if I live or die!" Billy shot back, his voice trembling with rage. "Slightly never would have had to come to my aid if Peter hadn't been so caught up in his stupid games."  
  
"You ungrateful low-life! Peter's in there dying because of you!" Tinkerbell yelled.  
  
"You're right, Tinkerbell, it _is_ my fault!" Jukes yelled back. "But since _you_ know so much, why don't you take a hint and leave Slightly alone?! Why are you punishing _him_?"  
  
Nibs and the other boys stared at him silently. Billy made a sound of disgust deep in his throat.  
  
"I'm goin' after him," he said coldly, and took off running.  
  
"Jukes!" yelled Mullins, snapping out of whatever shock had frozen him in place. "Get back here!" he hollered after the boy.  
  
But Billy either did not hear or did not listen. Mullins cursed and strode after him but the Chief put a hand on his shoulder. "They will not come to harm. I sense no danger."  
  
"Aye, of course there's not gonna be any danger! Cause I intend ta go after the scugs an' drag both of 'em back by the ears! Now let me go!"  
  
"Mullins, Jukes and Slightly know better than to go off too far with Hook out there," Cecco said.  
  
"They know better than goin' off at all!" Mullins growled. He turned to glare at Tinkerbell. "And as for you, ya winged viper, that was harsh what ye said to the lad!"  
  
Tink just ignored him and flew past Chief Panther into the tent to see how Peter fared.  
  
"Is he allright? Can we see him?" The other Lost Boys chorused, crowding around the tall shaman.  
  
Panther's face tightened. He did not want the Lost Boys to enter his lodge for various reasons, one being a certain young girl who would be embarrassed at her current state of undress. "Wendy may enter. But not you boys."  
  
"Why not?!" the boys cried, looks of childish outrage clear on their faces.  
  
"Because she is your mother," the Chief answered, for lack of any better explanation. "Peter needs rest. He cannot be disturbed or talked to."  
  
"But--" started Nibs.  
  
"I will hear no more on the matter. Come inside, Wendy." Wendy walked inside and the Chief was about to follow her when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.  
  
"Chief," Cecco started anxiously. "How's Maegie?"  
  
"Her wound is not serious. I've already treated her and she'll be able to walk and move around in a day or so."  
  
"Might I see the lass?"  
  
"_No._ Not yet. Please, all of you, be patient for a while longer."  
  


* * *

  
"Slightly?" Jukes called, looking about. He heard the wind stirring up through the leaves of the otherwise quiet forest. He shivered in fear. Hook could be anywhere . . . Billy knew had to be careful.  
  
Jukes bent down and looked for more signs of Slightly's passage. If the Lost Boy had flown, it would be too hard to track him down. But so far, it was alarmingly easy; Jukes knew that if he could follow the trail, Hook could too. He continued along, hoping fervently that he'd get to Slightly before Hook did.  
  
Jukes came to a crossing where the path was lined with tall trees and he looked about, puzzled. The tracks had faded and he could no longer follow them. He wondered if Slightly had taken to flight, when suddenly a small branch and an acorn pelted him on the shoulder from the treetops above.  
  
"Go away, Jukes!" Slightly's voice came from overhead.  
  
"Slightly!" Billy flew up toward his friend's voice.  
  
"Why are you mad at me?"  
  
"I'm not. Yet. But I will be if you don't _go!_"  
  
Slightly sat in the wide mossy cradle formed by the thick tree branches which twined up in a circle around him, forming a protective shield of leaf and green wood. Jukes slipped into the opening and sat down besides his friend.  
  
The Lost Boy's face was buried in his hands and he was making soft, sad sounds. "Go away! Please . . . just leave me alone . . ." the boy sobbed, brokenly.   
  
Billy didn't know what to say. Instead he braced his shoulder against Slightly's, offering his silent companionship.  
  
When Slightly's throat had at last become dry from his weeping, he leaned his head wearily on the young pirate's shoulder for support, drained by his emotions. Jukes put an arm around his friend and held him close.  
  
"Thank you," the boy croaked. Then, a little embarrassed, he added, "I feel slightly foolish for carrying on so."  
  
"Don't feel like that. We're friends aren't we? Besides, you know what Tink said isn't true."  
  
"What part?" Slightly asked, a faint tone of hope in his voice. Jukes winced.  
  
"I meant the part about being a traitor."  
  
Slightly shivered and leaned away from Billy. "I . . . I am really banished then . . . forever . . ."  
  
"I'm sorry. It's all my fault," Billy said quietly.  
  
"It isn't your fault in the slightest, Jukes! Don't let _anyone_ tell you that!" Slightly almost snapped.  
  
"Why should you have to suffer? You were only trying to help me!" Jukes eyes were flashing with anger as he spoke. "It isn't fair!"  
  
"Since when is anything?" Slighty countered back. He ran a hand through his rakish blond hair and decided to change the topic before it could turn into an argument. "I care more about you."  
  
Jukes looked at him, astonished. "What?"  
  
"When I was with you and Maegie in that cave, I felt like I was home. I never thought once of Peter and the others. It was like I didn't even know them. It's only when I saw them again at the Indian camp just a few hours ago that I remembered how much they were a part of my life. But _you're_ a part of my life too, Billy. It's slightly strange . . . but no matter what happens, I feel safe - more safe than I've ever felt - as long as I have you and Maegie."  
  
Slightly did not look at Jukes since he was more concerned with blinking back the new tears that had formed in his eyes. For a while there was a silence between them. then Slightly felt an arm wrap around his shoulders. "That's what a family is, Slightly. I'm glad you're part of mine too."  
  
Jukes was smiling gently at him when Slightly finally faced him and after a moment, he grinned back. The boys embraced, then a sudden wind blowing down on them through the leaves told them that it was time to head back.  
  
Slightly stood up, his legs trembling from nervousness at what he would face at the Indian camp and wishing he knew whether his eyes were red. But he would rather be embarrassed than dead by Hook's claw. Talking with Billy had released a great pressure weighing down on his heart; the same pressure which had kept him from being able to fly as he ran through the woods, blinded by his tears.  
  
Jukes rose into the air and Slightly joined him. Together they headed back toward the Indian camp, riding on the unsteady breeze.  
  


* * *

  
The calico growled weakly as she tried once more to chew at the snare tightened around her foot. Were her body not weakened so much from hunger, she would have freed herself hours ago. But as it was, her body was as light as a feather. It had been three days or more, and she had not a scrap of food besides the grass to fill her belly since she had fled Arizael's home.  
  
The smell of food had attracted her senses, and without any caution, she had leapt head-first into the Indian trap to eat the bait laid for her. And now she was paying the price; probably as someone else's meal. _Arizael would laugh if she could see me now_, the cat thought with a low growl. _Crazy old witch._  
  
Her tufted ears flicked as she heard an approaching sound. She hoped it was not a coyote or worse, the Crocodile, and began to struggle with the snare again.  
  
"Hard-To-Hit!" cried an angry voice. It belonged to a female human; a young one. The calico looked up and saw a figure rushing toward her. Her fur bunched up and her tail grew twice its normal size. She hissed as menacingly as she could, letting the approaching stranger know that she would not die easily if they had come to kill her.  
  
"I told you not to leave meat in the snares!"  
  
"Why not?" Hard-To-Hit asked, jogging to catch up with his sister. "Did I catch the bear?" he asked excitedly. "Or a wolf? What? Is it big? Oh . . ."  
  
The human boy's face fell in disappointment when he caught sight of the mangy calico. The cat glared back. _I'm not exactly thrilled to be here either, kid._  
  
She growled warningly as Tiger Lily approached her and found, much to her chagrin, that she was too weak to struggle much as the Indian girl placed the creature into her herb basket among the wild moss, roots, and fiddleheads she had previously collected.  
  
"We're trying to catch rabbits with these snares, Hard-To-Hit, not carnivores! Honestly!" Tiger Lily scolded him. She handed him a fiddlehead from her basket. "Rabbits like these. Set the snare again and this time, maybe we'll catch some supper."  
  
Hard-To-Hit grumbled and set about working. In a few minutes, he had finished and he and his sister began to walk.  
  
The calico pondered jumping from the basket, but the idea was squashed when she realized she would not be able to run very far. And besides, these humans weren't all that bad. As aloof and feral as she was - having lived around a witch for several years and learning how to dodge hexes and kicks for as long as she could remember - she was not as afraid of humans as most animals were. The cat could remember nothing of her past, if she had one. Nothing was hers; not even name. Only a strange sense of comfort when she smelled fire and human scent gave her the suspicion that she had once, perhaps centuries ago, been more than a calico.  
  
She laid back against the herbs, fluffed up her fur, and wrapped her tail around her body to keep the wind at bay. She knew she was going to a man's village and that the children were not going to eat or hurt her. The way Tiger Lily was still scolding Hard-To-Hit for his carelessness did more than assure her of that.  
  
"What is it with you girls and cats? I don't see you ever making a big fuss when you have to skin a bunny, but when it comes to a cat getting hurt, you go nuts!" Hard-To-Hit complained, pestered by his sister's scolding.  
  
"The cat didn't _have_ to get caught in the first place! You just wanted to catch something big so you could boast about it! As if a wolf or bear would actually stay in a puny snare like that! _Really_, Hard-To-Hit!"  
  
The Indian boy crossed his arms over his chest and sulked the rest of the way to the village. The calico twitched an ear and grumbled a bit as the basket jostled against Tiger Lily's side, aggravating her wounded foot. She wrapped a front paw around her injury and glared reproachfully up at the girl.  
  
Wherever they were going, she hoped they got there soon. The smell of roasted pheasant and partridge was making her mouth water.  
  


* * *

  
Maegie sat as straight and still as she could while Great-Big-Little-Panther wrapped a soft bandage of linen about her chest. She winced as he tied it off but found she was still able to breathe comfortably.  
  
"Does it feel too tight?"  
  
"No, not at all. Thank you."  
  
"The wound should heal as long as you do nothing to re-open it. Be careful."  
  
"I will," Maegie promised. Wendy had been kind enough to offer to mend her blouse and she was just putting the last stitches in. Maegie watched as the dark-haired girl looked up from her sewing to glance anxiously at Peter. The Chief walked outside, leaving the girls to themselves. Tinkerbell was curled up against Peter's chest, refusing to budge so she could hear each heartbeat.  
  
Maegie put a gentle hand on Wendy's shoulder. "I'm sorry. He was wounded for our sake. He is a very brave boy and I thank him."  
  
"That's very nice of you to say, Maegie. But Peter would have gotten into a fight with Hook sooner than later. I really wish he would listen to me and be careful for once. I'm only glad he isn't . . ." Wendy trailed off and her hand stopped. Losing her composure, the girl dropped her sewing and put her face in her hands. "He could have died . . ."  
  
Instead of the mother of the Lost Boys, Maegie saw before her a scared little girl who needed a shoulder to cry on.  
  
Maegie put an arm around Wendy and tried to comfort her. "Don't worry. I'm sure Chief Panther will heal him."  
  
"What if he can't?" sobbed Wendy. "He doesn't know what's wrong with Peter . . . none of us do. If Tinkerbell does, she's not speaking. It's like she's dead . . . she won't even look at me when I try to talk to her!"  
  
"Wendy," Maegie said, holding the girl tighter. "Listen. I know it's frightening, but right now the only thing you can do is make sure your Lost Boys don't try to fight Hook. Arizael's the real monster here and she's using her power to control Hook. If she's gotten to Peter too, then we're going to have to protect him. As best as we can . . ."  
  


* * *

  
"Where are they? It's been too long, I tell ya! Somethin's happened! I'm goin'!" Mullins declared, pacing back and forth in front of the Chief's lodge. "Cecco, Mason, come on. We gotta find them."  
  
"I say, look up there!" Starkey said, pointing to the sky. Mullins looked up and smiled in relief as Jukes and Slightly drifted down in front of them. He scanned them over, making sure they were allright, then really lit into them.  
  
"What in tarnation are you brats tryin' ta do to me? Kill me with worry?" He yelled at them. Although the brunt of his fury was aimed at Billy, Slightly could not help flinching along with his friend.  
  
"But Mullins, I couldn't just let Slightly---"  
  
There was a blur of motion and a sharp crack. Jukes stood with his head turned to his right, a brilliant red mark on his cheek. Slowly, he put a hand to his stinging face and rubbed where Mullins had slapped him. For a long moment, there was silence. Jukes did not speak or look the older pirate in the eye, but continued to stare ahead at nothing. His eyes were gleaming with tears, whether from shock, anger, shame, or all three, Mullins did not know.  
  
A small knot of worry formed in Robert's stomach. Had he gone to far? Did he really have the right to strike the boy? Yet he had done it because he cared for Jukes. If the boy wasn't goin to listen to reason, then by all that was holy, he'd listen to the back of Robert's hand.  
  
Mullins opened his mouth, not sure whether he was going to scold or apologize. Nothing came out. It was Billy who broke the silence.  
  
"Robert, I'm sorry. I had no right in worrying you so," he said quietly, his eyes now cast to the ground. His hand was still pressed against his cheek, and the red mark had yet to fade. Mullins cursed himself inwardly. How hard had he hit the boy?  
  
Starkey, Mason, and Smee gawked at their youngest shipmate's tolerance. "I say," Starkey whispered to them, "If any of _us_ had tried that, Jukes would have returned it with plenty of interest."  
  
"Aye," Mason muttered to Starkey, "But _Mullins_ does it and the lad's as contrite as a whipped school boy!"  
  
Mullins reached out, put a hand under Juke's chin, and made the boy look him in the eye. "Listen, I din't mean ta hit you, Billy, but I don't want ye gettin' hurt. When ye go off alone, for any reason, you give Hook another chance ta sink his hook into yer gut!" Mullins scolded, gruffly.  
  
"It was slightly my fault," Slightly said, and Mullins looked at him sharply. "If I hadn't flown off like that . . . " Nervously, Slightly broke off and stepped back a few feet. "Now don't hit _me_," he said, raising his hands.  
  
The tension was broken as Mullins and Jukes looked at each other for a moment then started laughing.  
  
"I ain't gonna hit ya, lad," Mullins promised, smirking a little.  
  
The cloth draped over the entrance to Chief Panther's lodge moved and the man stepped out. Wendy walked out beside him, her eyes red as if she had been crying. Bill and Slightly looked at one another in concern. Before they could ask anything, the Chief beckoned to the two boys. "Maegie asked me about you two. I believe it would do her good to talk to you."  
  
The boys walked forward, but paused when they stood before Wendy. "How is he?" Slightly asked, not looking her in the face. Wendy tenderly touched his cheek.  
  
"I don't know, Slightly." Her voice was full of sadness and Slightly hated himself for being part of her grief. He knew she didn't want him to be banished and that she understood why he had gone to help Jukes against Peter's orders. Poor Wendy was going through enough with Peter's injury. Now she had to leave him to look after her boys and her mother's heart was torn between staying with Peter, comforting Slightly, and making sure the rest of her charges were not hurt by Hook.  
  
"Slightly? Jukes? I will always love you both. You're still my boys, no matter what anyone else says. Even Peter." Wendy hugged them both tenderly, then drifted off the ground and began to fly toward the Underground House where the other Lost Boys were already waiting for her.  
  
Billy and Slightly watched her go and faintly wondered if they would ever see her again.  
  


* * *

  
Maegie looked up and smiled when she saw Billy and Slightly entering the lodge. They grinned back, but a troubled look came over their faces when they saw Peter's state. Billy knelt next to the suffering boy and reached out a hand to touch Peter's sweat-soaked forehead and received a sharp shock to his fingertips for his troubles.  
  
"Ouch!" Jukes cried, shaking the pain out of his hand.  
  
"Don't touch him, pirate boy . . ." Tinkerbell muttered, and curled into a tighter ball against Peter's body.  
  
"She's been like that since she came in here. She won't let anyone touch him. Not even Chief Panther."  
  
Jukes looked at Maegie who sat up on the bed amidst furs and blankets, strips of white cloth wrapped around her chest. She picked up the blouse Wendy had mended for her and slipped it on over the bandages, covering her bare arms and shoulders. Billy hoped he wasn't blushing and that Maegie couldn't hear the pounding in his chest. "What's the big deal?" he chided himself mentally. "It's just skin."  
  
He and Slightly sat beside her on the bed. "How are you feeling?" Jukes asked, feeling lowly. He still felt that it was because of him that she had been wounded. Even if Maegie had forgiven him for it, he wouldn't.  
  
Maegie wondered why neither Billy nor Slightly were making eye contact with her. "Fine. It doesn't hurt badly."  
  
"That's good," Slightly murmured, keeping his eyes to the ground.  
  
"What's wrong with you two? You look as if you've just heard you're about to be hung on the gallows." Immediately after she said that, she bit her lip. They practically _were_ in danger of hanging, -- or worse -- with Captain Hook still out there.  
  
"We're sorry," Billy and Slightly started to say at almost the same time.  
  
"For what?" Maegie asked, though she was afraid she knew why they were aplogizing.  
  
"You were hurt because of us."  
  
"That's ridiculous."  
  
"Maegie, it's true. If we hadn't been playing around, you would be okay."  
  
"I _am_ okay."  
  
"Because you were lucky."  
  
"No, Jukes, Slightly. Because I have friends like you."  
  
Both boys looked as if they were about to say something but Maegie kept talking. "Neither of you had any way of knowing Hook was coming right towards you. You can't blame yourself. And if you do, what good is it for? When mistakes are made, you learn from them. You don't hate yourself for them."  
  
"In that case . . . we promise to be more careful from now on."  
  
"Now, I prefer _that_ over a thousand apologies," Maegie said, smiling.  
  


* * *

  
The calico sniffed the air and meowed in complaint when she was carried past the cooking pheasants and toward a tall man who stood in front of an Indian lodge. Four other males stood by, each of different skin-color than the powerful man standing over her and the two Indian children.  
  
Tiger Lily must have nudged Hard-To-Hit, because the calico heard him grunt in pain.  
  
"I set the snare wrong and we caught a cat. So now its leg is wounded."  
  
"I see." The Chief appeared to know exactly how Hard-To-Hit had set the snares wrong, because he was frowning disapprovingly at the boy.  
  
The calico shifted her gaze away, bored, as the Chief began to mildly lecture the fidgeting Indian boy. She sniffed the air to savor the delicious scent of the cooking poultry, when suddenly something caught her nose and her heart seemed to skip a beat.  
  
It was something familiar . . . something she had never sensed before as a cat, yet it made her soul ache deeply, although she knew not why. Before she could stop herself, she felt her body uncurling and jumping down from the basket. She gave a short cry as pain lanced up her foot, but her discomfort was ignored as she headed toward the scent, tracking it down to its source. She followed it past the bemused Chief who had paused scolding Hard-To-Hit and into the lodge's opening beyond him.  
  
The scent became stronger; and she still could not identify it with her feline senses. Her soul, however, was crying out a name that was as foreign to her ears as it was dear to her heart.  
  
She stopped suddenly and when she looked up into the face of a young gypsy boy with raven hair framing his face and equally astonished brown eyes staring down at her, she knew she had somehow found a link to memories long forgotten . . . and something far more precious than that.  
  
Words began to tumble through her head and although she did not understand why, her heart was filled with joy. _He's alive . . . Dear sweet Gods, he's alive . . . but how? . . . they just left him on that god forsaken island to die . . . but he's alive . . ._ The calico was trembling all over and she wanted to shout out her love for this boy and tell him who she was and who he was and that she had died inside when they had taken him away from her . . . but all that came out was a pitiful mewl. And it was then she remembered what she was. She staggered forward, and her leg throbbed with renewed pain.  
  
The boy turned to his blonde friend who shrugged, wordlessly. Jukes bent down to pick the small calico up and as she curled in his arms, the pain suddenly didn't matter at all. Because now she was home.  
  


To Be Continued . . .

  


[ ][1]

  


   [1]: http://server45.hypermart.net/dendraica/peterpan.html



	3. Soul Cages 3

Hook walked past the men assembled before him, eyeing them critically. Each man flinched as his gaze met theirs and not one could stare back without breaking into a sweat. There was something unnatural about this man. Something not _whole._ To anger him was a folly; and 'twas fear more than anything else that kept these men from disobeying his slightest whim. It was an enslaving fear, one that made them believe any escape other than death was nonexistent.  
  
However, as strong as this fear was, it wasn't enough to beat down the pride of _everyone_ on Hook's crew.  
  
"Are you saying," Hook snarled, "That you failed to find any children?"  
  
"We combed the island. Wherever these kids are, they're damn good at hiding," Black Murphy offered sheepishly.  
  
"But we did find some redcoats," Skylights piped up, turning to leer at the huddled prisoners. Among them were Henry Oaks, Ben Hughes, Thomas Ridley, and Captain John Waters.  
  
"I didn't ask you to find redcoats, did I?"  
  
"Well, no, but--"  
  
Hook turned too swiftly to give any indication of a warning to Skylights and his fist cracked against the pirate's cheekbone, sending Skylights crashing toward the ground.  
  
"Idiots! All of you! You can capture grown men, but you can't capture mere children?!" Hook bellowed.  
  
"Why are ye so hot to catch the little beasts anyway!?" Skylights snarled back, spitting blood. He staggered to his feet, discreetly drawing a dagger from concealment. "If we're so pathetic, why couldn't you do it yourself? Ask yourself that before you taunt us, you demon-dog!"  
  
"Silence, you putrid--"  
  
"No! I've had it! The witch-boy was right about you, you're not fit to serve! You're possessed by something unholy and I refuse to live under such---" Skylights choked off as Hook grabbed him forward with a hard grip on his neck.  
  
"Poor choice of words, sir," Hook warned in a deadly soft tone of voice. "Very poor choice indeed."  
  
Skylights found himself staring at the wrong end of a sharp hook and despite the fact that his legs were shaking, did not back down. If Skylights was anything, it wasn't someone who let himself cower in the face of adversary. To him, these other men were all spineless idiots! Hook was mortal, wasn't he? Dangerous, yes, but mortal and only _one_. He sneered at the thought of being bullied into service so easily and his grip tightened on the hilt of the dagger. "If death is the only way to free myself from your tyranny so be it. But I'm takin' you with me!"  
  
With a yell, Skylights drove the point of his weapon hard into Hook's abdomen, sinking the blade up to the hilt. Hook barely grimaced and Skylights looked down to see his hand covered in spurting black blood. "What the . . .?" Hook reached down and awkwardly pulled the dagger out with his claw, letting it fall to the ground. Even as Skylights watched, the wound healed itself, leaving only a trace of dark liquid behind on cloth and skin.  
  
Hook smiled then and Skylights noted how his eyes - even the parts that were normally supposed to be white - were completely black with small red flames dancing in the center.  
  
"_My_ turn," Hook hissed, and Skylight's world ended in a flash of silver and crimson.  
  
His corpse had not yet fallen to the sand before Hook turned to face the other men. "Any other 'rebels'?"   
  
Nobody dared answer.  
  
"You will share his fate if you do not bring me the results I ask for. Do I make myself perfectly clear? Now go out and find those damned Lost Boys and that traitorous gypsy before I hang, draw, and quarter the lot of you!"  
  
Silent nods greeted the Captain's words, and the only sounds to be heard on the beach were that of hearts beating in terror, and a robin's tuneless singing.  
  


* * * 

  
"I don't understand it . . . why did she come to me?"  
  
The calico twitched her ears at the voice and began to purr softly as fingers touched her fur and stroked her gently. It had been an hour or two since she had found the boy . . . the boy who she loved with a nameless strength and yet did not know why. Chief Panther had set her sprained paw, wrapping soft bandages around it and talking to her soothingly. She hadn't been paying attention to anything but the young gypsy holding her and staring back at her in puzzlement.  
  
"She acted as if she knew you," a feminine voice said.  
  
"But I've never had a pet cat . . ."  
  
"Slightly weird if you ask me."  
  
The cat looked up hearing something approaching a few seconds before the flap of the tipi lifted. Two figures walked in side, both taller than the children who surrounded her and she tensed apprehensively as they came near. Jukes' hand on her back eased her back down onto his lap, and it was then she realized there was no scent of fear from any of the children. _These_ adults were not dangerous . . .  
  
"How are you feeling, Maegie?" Cecco asked.  
  
"Just a little sore," she assured both men. Mullins looked over at the creature curled up in Billy's arms and frowned.  
  
"And where did that come from?"  
  
"I don't know, Mullins. She just walked right in . . ."  
  
"And came straight toward Billy . . . as if she knew him!" Slightly added.  
  
"Seems suspicious to me," Mullins grumbled, but did not pursue the matter any further. There were more important things to talk about at the moment. "Look, we got somethin to important to say . . ." Mullins lifted the cat from Jukes' arms and set her on the covers. "One of the braves who was scouting along the beach saw Hook and the other pirates."  
  
"Hook killed Skylights. Beheaded him as clean as a dandelion . . . and what's more, took a dagger in his stomach without even flinching," Cecco informed quietly.  
  
Billy felt a chill go up his spine. Was Hook _that_ far gone? Slightly was looking a trifle pale, and Maegie kept silent with her eyes cast downward.  
  
"They're combing the island for us. Hook is apparently getting out of control; I do not see how any of his actions benefit Arizael. She doesn't appear to be controlling him. It's more as if she gave him a _plague_ of some sorts."  
  
"Aye, a plague that washes all humanity from his soul," growled Mullins softly.  
  
"Which is why," Cecco continued, looking at each youngster in the eye, "We have decided among us to go to Witch's Peak . . . and stop her any way we can."  
  
"What?!" yelled Slightly, and Jukes echoed his disbelief.  
  
"She might kill you . . ." Maegie whispered.  
  
"It's a possibility, we realize that. But --"  
  
"Why are you attacking her? You don't know anything about her! Her weaknesses, her strengths . . ."  
  
"We're running out of time, lass," Mullins said, as gently as he could.  
  
"But she's right, what hope do you have if you just charge in there with your weapons?" Slightly asked.  
  
"What would ye have us do? Just sit around waiting for Hook to find us? He's searching the uninhabited places now so he doesn't lose any men in combat. Next it might be here . . . we're gonna run out of places to hide," Robert replied, somewhat irritably. "And if ye ask me, I'm rather sick of hiding."  
  
"We're just worried you might not come back," Billy said, standing up.  
  
"Ya think we don't know that?" Mullins yelled, forgetting his temper.  
  
Jukes flinched as if he had been struck again and Robert almost cursed himself out loud. But before the older pirate could apologize, Billy was already telling him off. "Listen, Mullins, I don't know if you've realized it, but I care for you! You slapped me for being reckless; I think this is worse! You could all be killed for nothing! We are _not_ just kids who don't know what they're talking about; so why don't you listen to us?!"  
  
"Peace, lad! Peace, allright?" Mullins put his hands on Jukes' shoulders. "I'm not gonna let our last words be quarrelsome."  
  
"These are _not_ our last words, don't say that!"  
  
"Oh, for the love of . . . lad, that's not what I meant," Robert amended, pulling Jukes into an embrace. Mullins could feel him trembling.  
  
"I don't want you to go. Please . . . I have a bad feeling about this," Slightly murmured.  
  
"Don't go there," Maegie begged them, her own eyes brimming over with tears. "Not now . . ."  
  
Cecco looked at the children, sensing their fears were as deep as his own. "If we had any other choice, we'd take it."  
  
"I'm going with you," Billy said, his voice muffled by Mullins' shirt but sounding no less determined.  
  
"No," Mullins began to protest, but Jukes looked up at him.  
  
"I might be your friend, but I'm your shipmate too. Where you go, I go."  
  
"But it's safer--"  
  
"Mullins, I have always fought by your side and you've never worried nearly this much about my safety."  
  
"But this is different!"  
  
"How?"  
  
Robert stared back, realizing how . . . _fatherly_ he was acting. He had never done anything in the past to keep Jukes on board while Hook led the pirates ashore to battle some foe, or to plunder a fortune. Always, Billy had been with them and he had fought as good as any other man; he knew what he was doing. _So why am I acting like this? Like ye've never fought a battle beside me before; never bled or drew blood? Am I your father now?_ Robert thought inwardly.  
  
"It's your choice, boy," Robert said, at length, although the words felt almost forced.  
  
Billy nodded once, solemnly and Mullins sighed.  
  
"Then, I guess that's that."  
  
"But Jukes!" Slightly cried, touching his friend's arm. Billy turned around and faced him.  
  
"I have to go with them," the young gypsy said, looking into the lost boy's eyes. Slightly stared for a moment or two, then his shoulders slumped and he let his eyes close.  
  
"You'd better come back."  
  
"Don't worry, cully, you'll not get rid of us that easily." Slightly smiled a little at that remark.  
  
Mullins looked toward Cecco, and the Jamaican pirate stood and joined Mullins and Jukes at the entrance of the tipi.  
  
"Wish us well. Stay here and look over Peter. And should anything happen while we're gone . . . go back to the cave and stay there."  
  
Slightly and Maegie looked as if they were on the verge of protesting all over again, but Mullins met their gaze and they nodded obediently. They watched Cecco, Billy, and Mullins leave in silence, and heard the other pirates talking and asking questions from outside. The voices grew fainter and the children knew the pirates were leaving for the journey up Witch's Peak.  
  
The calico grumbled quietly and jumped down before Maegie could catch her. She weaved through Maegie and Slightly's attempts to detain her, and slid out the entrance in pursuit of the departing men.  
  
"She doesn't want to let them go alone either."  
  
"I . . . I guess we wait here?" Maegie asked. "I hate this."  
  
"I don't like this one slight bit," Slightly had to agree.  
  
"Then go after them," spoke a hollow voice, making both children jump.  
  
Peter Pan, all traces of fever gone, smiled at them without malice, though his once-blue irises were stained black with something unholy.  
  
Tinkerbell opened her eyes and gasped as she looked upon the revived Peter.  
  
"You're allright! Oh thank goodness, you're allright!" She cried, fluttering up to shed her light in his face. His eyes closed as if in pain from the light, and in a motion too quick to give any warning, his hand reached up and slapped Tinkerbell away from him. The poor fairy cried out in pain and surprise as the blow knocked her to the floor.  
  
"What did you do that for?!" yelled Slightly, shocked.  
  
Tink moaned feebly and Maegie knelt down to pick the shaken fairy up.  
  
Peter looked at them, quizzically. "It was just a little bug shining its light in my face. What's the big deal?"  
  
"What?! Peter, it's me Tinkerbell!" the fairy cried, distraught.  
  
"And what does that matter to me? You may be pretty, but you're still just an insect. If you aren't going to be of any use, then stay away and don't irritate me."  
  
Tinkerbell took the words like a stab to her heart, and her eyes filled with tears. "How could you, Peter?" she whispered, brokenly.  
  
"How could I what?" Peter got up and stretched the cramps out of his body. "Are you coming with me or not?"  
  
"Where are you going?" demanded Maegie, not so much angry as she was alarmed by Peter's odd behavior.  
  
"To kill Hook, of course. He wounded me. Where's my sword?"  
  
Slightly looked at Maegie, warning her with his eyes not to tell Peter anything. The Lost Boy apparently knew something was wrong with his leader.  
  
"We don't know where it is, Peter," Maegie lied, hoping Pan couldn't see through it.  
  
"Then perhaps I left it somewhere. If I don't find it, I guess I'll just have to find a new one," Peter said with a shrug, and quite calmly, walked out of the tipi. They saw his shadow leave the ground and raise up into the sky.  
  
Maegie, still holding a sobbing Tinkerbell in her hands stared after him, shaken. "He's going to get himself killed. Where would he find a weapon?"  
  
Slightly took in a ragged breath, fearing he knew the place where Peter would search first, and the person who would most likely stand in Peter's way upon realizing all was not right. _Wendy . . ._ All Slightly could think of for that moment was Hook cutting down Skylights without a trace of regret; if Peter shared the same madness, what would stop him?  
  
He looked at Maegie and realized the girl was thinking along the same lines.  
  
"I have to warn them . . ." Slightly said and she nodded gravely. Before Slightly could leave, the young woman grabbed the boy's wrist and tugged him back.  
  
"Slightly, take this," she said, pressing a small dagger into Slightly's hands; Peter's dagger. "Don't fight him unless you have to. Just get the others out of there."  
  
Tinkerbell raised her head. "I'll go with you, Slightly."  
  
"Tink?" the Lost Boy asked, looking confused.  
  
"Peter's not himself. He loves me, he would never say that to me unless something was terribly wrong. I'll go with you."  
  
Slightly nodded and Tink held on to the boy's cap as he flew up and away toward the Underground House, leaving Maegie alone.  
  


* * *

  
"Are you absolutely certain of this, Murphy?"  
  
"Yes, Cap'n, I swear on my life. They're at the Indian village. Brine and I saw 'em walkin out one of them tipis."  
  
"For your sake, you had better be right. Cookson, stay with the redcoats and if you wish to slit their throats and join us, it matters little to me. The rest of you, draw your weapons and form rank! Today we do some scalping of our own!"  
  


* * *

  
Cecco's arm shot forward, grabbing onto a root as the rocks from beneath his feet crumbled. He fell to one knee then after a moment's struggle, regained his footing. The steep and rocky terrain of Witch's Peak was proving rather difficult to scale, but they would not be driven away or disenheartened from their task.  
  
"There's a ledge up ahead. Might be easier to climb from there on up," Mason called back to the other men. Alf reached the ledge first and pulled himself up, then turned around and started helping his other shipmates who were battling with the uncooperative mountain-side.  
  
The ledge was somewhat narrow but long, and a full grown man could stand up without bumping his head. There was enough room for everyone to stand or sit and catch their breath before continuing on.  
  
Cecco reached down and gave Mullins a hand, while Jukes and Starkey pulled themselves up.  
  
"Begorra, but what's that down there?" Smee asked, peering through his spectacles as he looked in the direction from which they had climbed.  
  
"Drag me ta Hades, it's that blasted cat!" Mullins muttered. Sure enough, the small feline was working her way up to where they were, making steady progress but favoring one of her hindpaws.  
  
"Why'd she follow?" Jukes wondered out loud.  
  
"We ain't gonna wait for a lame cat, Jukes. Let's go," Mason grumbled, and got to his feet.  
  
By the time the men had stood up and started looking for handholds, the cat was already on the ledge. She pawed at Jukes' leg and miaowed until she got his attention.  
  
"Go back, cat. This is no place for you," Billy told her.  
  
The calico flicked back one ear and her gentle pawing turned into a swat.  
  
"What is it?" Jukes asked, somewhat indignantly. His indignance soon changed to surprise when the calico purposefully walked along the ledge to a knobby stone jutting out of the mountainside and pressed her paws against it.  
  
Suddenly, where there had once been nothing but rock, loose earth, and some vegetation, was a tall rectangular entrance.  
  
"What the devil?" Mullins swore softly, and crept toward the opening, his weapon drawn. Darkness enveloped everything inside, and the pirates seemed more than reluctant to enter. The calico looked at Jukes, winked one eye, and sauntered in. Her miaowing from within assured them that nothing drastic had happened to her and that it was safe.  
  
Robert stuck one foot inside and pulled it back out, and when he saw it hadn't been bitten off, cautiously edged into the opening. "It's allright," he called back. "Ain't nothin in here but stairs . . . and cobwebs . . . but rest assured, there's evil in this place!"  
  
"Oh, I say, that last bit was _very_ encouraging, Mullins," Starkey muttered and walked inside with the same amount of unease. Cecco, Jukes, Smee, and Mason followed, Jukes pausing only to bend down and scratch the cat behind her ears. She trilled lovingly and continued on at his side.  
  
"The cat must be charmed," observed Mason, grateful he didn't have to climb the rest of the way to the top. This way, they could reserve their strength for fighting Arizael.  
  
"Charmed? Balderdash! I think it knows too much to be entirely trusted," Mullins grumbled, suspiciously.  
  
"Wouldja rather climb?"  
  
"Well in this case, yeah, I guess we can trust it," Mullins added hastily.  
  
Starkey and Cecco began to walk up the stairs, brushing the cobwebs away as they did so. The other pirates followed, guided through the darkness by light streaming down in lines across the stone steps.  
  
When they got near the top of the stairs, they were greeted with an obstacle preventing them from going any further.  
  
Directly before them, the stairs continued until they reached the landing. Two feet above the landing were wooden floor boards, where dim light was falling through in between the gaps.  
  
"Oh, blast it. A dead end," groaned Starkey.  
  
"Don't be so sure, mate. It's just wood," said Mason, raising his fist and preparing to smash through the barrier. The calico darted between legs until she reached the landing, and stood up on her hind legs, pushing one of the boards up a little. She turned back to Mason and he got the idea and began to move the wooden planks aside to create an opening. The boards were loose already, so there was no need to make noise and give themselves away. Once again; the calico had helped them increase their chances of taking Arizael by surprise.  
  
"That's twice now . . . how we sure it ain't leadin us into a trap?" worried Mullins.  
  
"You have a point there, Mullins . . ." Starkey agreed.  
  
Right then, the calico gave them such a wounded look that the men did not bring the argument up again. She glared reproachfully for a few seconds more, then jumped up to the opening Mason had created and miaowed for them to hurry on up and follow her.  
  
"Can't believe we're bein led around the nose by a cat," Mullins thought to himself. He drew a deep breath and hoisted himself up onto the floor of the witch's larder.  
  


* * *

  
"Look, Peter's back! He's allright!" exclaimed the Lost Boys, all cheering and whooping with glee as their leader flew down his tree and landed in their midst. Their cheering died quite suddenly, however, at the look on Peter's face.  
  
He stared at them through eyes as black as coal and then turned about to come face to face with Wendy. Her own eyes widened and she took a step backwards.  
  
"Peter . . . what's wrong? Why do you stare at us so?"  
  
"Find me a sword. I go to battle Hook."  
  
Wendy took a long look at Peter, and the Lost Boys watched her face anxiously for the tell-tale frown that meant 'no'. Audible gasps broke forth as Peter shoved Wendy aside before she could answer, making her stumble. Tootles was even so bold as to cry out, "Peter!" in a chiding tone.  
  
Peter ignored him and set about searching for a sword. "My sword is missing. Who has hidden it? Come now, this isn't a funny game!" Peter whirled around, glaring. "My dagger is missing also. If any of you've taken it, give it up at once!"  
  
"W-w-we don't have your sword or your dagger, Peter," stammered John.  
  
"But just because you're missing it-" started one Twin.  
  
"Is no excuse to be --- mmmphhh!" the other Twin started to finish before Curly clapped a hand over his mouth.  
  
"Give me one of your swords then. Nibs, hand over your knife!"  
  
Nibs stood silently, not knowing what to do. His loyalty was urging him to do as Peter commanded, but Wendy was staring at him also over Peter's shoulder, and telling him 'no' with her eyes. The moment of Nibs' hesitation was all it took for Peter to lose his temper.  
  
"When I say to give me something," Peter growled, darting forward, and grabbing the dagger at Nibs' side, "I mean for you to do it _now!_"  
  
In a flash, Peter had drawn the blade and in one swift motion, sliced Nibs across the chest. The lost boy cried out in pain and shock and stumbled backwards, landing with a crash into the cluttered pots and pans and striking his head against the wall.  
  
"That was a warning, Nibs."  
  
"Peter, how could you!" Wendy burst out.  
  
"Hold your tongue!" Peter snapped, and Wendy's eyes brimmed over with tears.  
  
"Don't yell at Wendy!" yelled Michael angrily, stepping out from behind John.  
  
Peter smirked at him. "I have no problem with cutting you too, little baby! And that goes for the rest of you!"  
  
The leader of the lost boys stared at Wendy next. "And if I ever find that you've hidden my sword or _anything_ of mine . . ." he snarled, starting toward her with his knife raised. Wendy whimpered and backed away, and Nibs groggily tried to get to his feet to come to her defense.  
  
"Get away from her, Peter!" Slightly yelled, flying in through his tree and landing before Peter, blocking him from Wendy.  
  
"Make me!"  
  
"I know where your sword is!" Slightly cried. "Follow me!" And for further goading, Slightly made a face, sticking out his tongue and pulling down his lower eyelid until the red was showing. Peter stepped back, offended and outraged. The sprightly lost boy took to the air and flew out of his entrance, and Peter yelled in fury and pursued.  
  
Slightly could hear Peter gaining on him and his heart began to pound in fear. What if this plan didn't work? Or if Peter managed to grab one of his ankles? He would be in big trouble, that's what! He only hoped Tinkerbell was ready . . .  
  
The lost boy burst out of the tree, sending a shower of green leaves cascading wildly into the air. "Now Tink!" he hollered, and just as Peter came out, the leader of the lost boys found himself caught in a sticky, sparkling web.  
  
"Let me out!" Pan screamed, thrashing about and getting himself even more entangled. Slightly caught a pink flash approach Peter's hand and yank Nibs' knife away. "Sorry, Peter, but I don't want you to hurt yourself."  
  
"Little insect! How dare you do this to me! I'll get you back, just watch! All night long, I'm going to say 'I don't believe in fa---mmmmphhh!!!" Peter cried, choking on a mouthful of pink fairy cotton.  
  
"Peter, I'm sure you'd regret killing me. I'm so much prettier than Wendy and you wouldn't be able to fly anymore," Tink said, landing on the branch next to him and preening her wings. "Slightly, go down to the Underground House and tell them it's safe to come out. I think you should all leave. I'll stay here and guard Peter."  
  
The lost boy nodded and drifted back down his tree. "Guys?" he called, coming into the house. Wendy was standing over Nibs, trying her best to stop the bleeding and talking Nibs out of unconsciousness. Michael was crying and all the other boys were looking grim.  
  
"Tinkerbell trapped Peter. It's safe for the time being," Slightly told them all. Wendy stepped forward and threw her arms about him.  
  
"Slightly, thank goodness, you've saved us! You were so brave!"  
  
"I haven't done anything but lead him away! I was worried I was going to have to resort to using this," Slightly said, holding up Peter's dagger. "Now let's all go; I don't know how strong Tink's web is, or what powers Peter might've gotten from whatever's inside him."  
  
"You mean, that's not Peter?"  
  
"It's something feeding off of Peter. Cecco said it was sorta like a plague . . ."  
  
"Wendy, what's a plague?" asked Tootles.  
  
"I'll tell you once we get somewhere safe. Curly, please grab some food and put it in a basket, and Twins, gather some blankets and pillows."  
  
"No, Wendy, that's not necessary. I think we should go to the Indian village. Mullins once said something about 'safety in numbers' and that makes a slight bit of sense to me."  
  
"Allright, Slightly. Let's go, boys."  
  
"Will we ever get Peter back?" Curly whispered to John, as they flew away from their home.  
  
"I don't know, Curly. I really don't know," murmured John.  
  


* * *

  
Shortly after Slightly's departure, Maegie became aware of the sudden silence surrounding the camp. No voices, no children laughing or playing at games . . . nothing. Not even a bird squawked. It certainly couldn't be nighttime already?  
  
She touched one foot to the ground, then the other, and stood to creep over to the tipi's opening. Peering out, the sight she saw was a rather unwelcome one. The peaceful village looked abandoned; where _was_ everyone?  
  
A dark figure suddenly rushed at her, and before she could utter a scream, a hand clapped over her mouth. "Shhh! Stay low!" a feminine voice whispered in her ear. Tiger Lily!  
  
Maegie sighed in relief and upon feeling her relax, Tiger Lily let go. "What's going on?" Maegie asked.  
  
"Pirates are coming. Hook and his men . . . we saw them heading toward us; almost missed it, they were so silent. These new pirates . . . they're men used to murdering and used to ambushes . . . not like the other pirates who were loud and noisy. I liked them better."  
  
"So now what?"  
  
"We're at a stalemate . . . We know Hook's coming and Hook knows that we know. Now each of us are waiting for the other to make the first move."  
  
"Where's Great-Big-Little-Panther and Hard-to-Hit?"  
  
"In one of the scouting parties. We're trying to see if we can circle around ----"  
  
"I'm afraid, ladies, that we've beat you to it," came a voice from the other side of the tipi. Maegie and Tiger Lily both shrieked as a hook slashed an opening through the canvas. They stumbled outside and soon after that, the village erupted into chaos.  
  


* * *

  
The sound of the witch's laughter above them was enough to raise the hair on the back of their necks. Directly below Arizael in the witch's larder, the pirates stared up at the ceiling of wooden planks and saw by the light changing where exactly she was. They could hear her talking to herself and muttering, sometimes laughing and singing nonsense. Her footsteps would dance across the floor, sending drifts of spiderweb, dust, and sand down onto the pirates.  
  
Mullins looked over at Cecco, made a swirling motion near the side of his head, then pointed upward. Cecco nodded. Arizael was clearly insane; perhaps then she had no motive for any of this . . . it was just a game she was playing, regardless of how the living pieces felt about it.  
  
More dust rained on the pirates, and tragedy was about to fall with it. Smee felt an itching in his nostrils, and almost a second too late, Mason reached over and clamped Smee's nose hard between forefinger and thumb, muffling the sneeze.  
  
Arizael's feet stopped dancing across the wooden boards.  
  
"Oh dear me," she sang, in a high, sweet, voice. "I appears I have mice in my larder."  
  
The men saw no threat in these words, but the calico bunching up her fur and hissing was the only warning they received.  
  
Floor boards suddenly yanked up and were whirled away by a powerful wind. Smee yelped as he seized by an invisible hand and pulled up along with them. The cat hissed again and Smee's screaming goaded the men into running up the steps to the Irishman's aid.  
  
Arizael laughed and let Smee crash into Starkey, who was first to clear the landing. Both pirates collapsed, unconscious, to the ground. Two down, four to go.  
  
The witch lowered her hands and smiled at the remaining pirates who stared back in return. The being they had first seen when Hook had taken them to Arizael's cottage had been an old and shriveled hag. This however - whether it be a disguise or her true form - was not the shape of any hag.  
  
Arizael's thick black hair curled around her face in soft waves, and her green eyes held hints of jade, complimenting her fair, brown skin. "Have you come to fight, or just stare?" she asked, smirking.  
  
_There's no way . . . there's simply no way . . ._ Billy thought to himself, trembling and tightening his grip around the hilt of his short-sword until his knuckles turned white. _It's a trick to confuse me, that's all it is. So I won't want to fight her . . . please, God, tell me that's all it is . . . _  
  
Jukes shook his head fiercely, but Arizael stayed the same.  
  
Robert looked from Billy to Arizael and at once saw what he had somehow missed a few seconds before. "Don't let her fool you, boy," he spoke, firmly.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Arizael asked, in mock concern. The calico spat at her, her tail taking on the form of a bottle-brush. "I see you've taken in my little familiar. Thank you for giving her a good home, but if you came all this way just to give her back, I must apologize. My home is quite full of animals already."  
  
Arizael raised her hands, and a black swarm of birds came tearing through the windows flapping their wings against the pirates and trying to peck at them with their beaks.  
  
Yelling curses, Mason stepped back and nearly fell through a broken floorboard to the hard ground of the larder below. If Cecco had not grabbed him, he might have broken his neck.  
  
Billy raised his arms to ward of the birds beating their bodies against his. His friends didn't have a chance unless someone did something. Arizael could have destroyed them all by now; the only reason they were still living was for her amusement. Billy closed his eyes and told himself grimly that what he was seeing was a lie; it had to be. Nevertheless, his heart won over his mind, and Billy flung his sword aside and plunged forward. He felt his body slam into Arizael's, and hoped it would at least distract her from controlling the birds. It worked; Arizael's hands dropped and the birds no longer attacked Mullins, Mason, or Cecco. They swarmed harmlessly around in confusion, searching for an escape.  
  
Instead, Arizael's hands were now locked around Billy's throat, choking the life from him.  
  


* * *

  
Hook fought among his men with the deadliness of a double-edged sword and twice the ferocity of any demon. Despite his powers, however, Hook was more in the mood for interrogation than he was for bloodshed.  
  
"Where are they?" he roared, demanding this question of nearly every man who attacked him before cutting them down.  
  
Maegie watched with horror at the battle around her; to think some of these men killing the braves who had sheltered her and her friends were no more than bread-thieves; Hook was forcing them to become murderers . . . and it was bad enough that Hook was doing all the killing.  
  
She saw Noodler get kicked down by a brave and darted forward as the brave began the final downward stroke of his tomahawk, preparing to smash the man's brains out.  
  
"Don't!" she yelled, grabbing the brave, Lean Wolf's, arm.  
  
"Girl, get inside the tipi! Leave fighting to us warriors, you understand?" Lean Wolf barked at her.  
  
"Don't hurt him, he doesn't want to fight; he's only doing it because Hook will kill him!"  
  
Noodler wiped some of the blood out of his eyes. "Maegie?" he asked, faltering. "That you?"  
  
Lean Wolf glanced down at him, looked back at Maegie and nodded, then ran off to help Swift Fox and Deer Star with their attackers.  
  
"Let's go, Noodler," Maegie said, helping him up.  
  
"Where?" he croaked weakly, only able to bring himself to his knees. Maegie struggled and finally managed to help him inside one of the tipis. Brushing aside a hanging dream-catcher, and a few other pouches and tools of shamanism, she helped Noodler over to the bed and eased him into a lying position. Once he was settled, Maegie took the long knife strapped to Noodler's belt and started back outside.  
  
"Wait!" he cried, grabbing her arm. "What are you doing? You can't go out there, you'll get killed!"  
  
"I have to do _something!_ This is ridiculous! All of you fighting a battle that you don't even need to fight! The real enemy is up there on Witch's Peak!" With a scowl and a flash of red hair, Maegie lifted the flap of the tipi and walked back outside.  
  
She noticed a small brown bag on the ground just outside the tipi and picked it up, wondering what it was. An arrow whistled by her ear and she glared fiercely in the direction from which it had come, in such a manner that the brave who had misfired it had the decency to look fairly alarmed.  
  
She was so angry, she wanted to just scream at everyone to stop . . . stop immediately and look what they were doing. But of course nobody would hear her; not over the hell they were raising and the blood they were spilling on the ground. She was helpless and for the first time in her life, didn't know what to do or say. All she had was the clothes on her back, a pouch full of who-knows-what, and a knife. Useless, all useless! Maegie clenched her fist in frustration and upon reaching her boiling point flung the small brown bag into a nearby cookfire.  
  
The result of this was quite unexpected.  
  
With a bang that seemed to shake the ground itself, the cookfire transformed the pouch and its contents into a tall winding pillar of blue smoke. Maegie fell backwards with a startled squawk, and looked in amazement at what she had created. Likewise, everyone's weapons lowered as they turned to stare at this blue monster in their midst. The smoke began to shift and the head of a blue serpent poked out of the billowing clouds, followed by another, and yet another . . .  
  
This was all too much for the pirates under Hook's leadership. With frightened screams and curses, the men flung their swords to the ground and ran pell-mell towards the woods, the serpents winding out of the smoke and playfully snapping at their heels before dissolving into nothing.  
  
Needless to say, within the next few seconds, Hook found himself alone with all weapons pointed at him.  
  


* * *

  
Slightly, Wendy, and the other lost boys were only half way to the Indian village before realizing something was wrong.  
  
"I smell gunfire!" cried Nibs, carried between both Twins.  
  
"I smell smoke and burning wood!" cried Curly.  
  
"I smell food!" Tootles chirped.  
  
"Aw, Tootles!" the boys complained loudly.  
  
But Tootles was right; just below them on the beach, they could make out Cookson toiling over a cookfire and singing badly from the way his prisoners were all twitching.  
  
"_Ohhhh, de fire is hot, and de prisoners are scared; I making my soup an de Cap'n don't care -- _"  
  
"Would you shut the bloody hell up?!" yelled Henry Oaks. Cookson just ignored him and went on singing.  
  
"_He's not going to try it unless it taste good, so _. . . um . . . uhhhh . . ."  
  
"Thank God, he's run out of rhymes," Thomas Ridley muttered.  
  
"How about: _so I'll take out the rat tails, cabbage, and mud?_" suggested a child's voice.  
  
"That was a good one, John!" applauded Michael.  
  
"Yes, that was a very good --- OY!!!" Cookson jumped up, nearly upsetting the cookpot. "What you tink you doin here?! Cap'n comb island for you and tink you be at Indian village, but he get a surprise when Cookson catch you!"  
  
The portly chef ran forward and tried to grab the kids' ankles but they darted out of his reach easily.  
  
"At the Indian village?! No!" cried Slightly, worried about his friends. "We have to go now! Hurry!"  
  
As the children flew off, Cookson yelled at them and chased them along the beach for a little ways. He shook his fist at them and walked back toward the redcoats.  
  
Cookson sighed and shook his head, then turned back to the cookfire and, much to his prisoners' dismay, his singing.  
  


* * *

  
Billy gripped Arizael's hands, trying to pry them away from his throat. His world was turning black even as he struggled, and he was dimly aware of Mullins' voice calling out to him.  
  
"And thus you die, little sparrow," Arizael hissed, as Billy's attempts to free himself grew weaker and weaker.  
  
Robert roared in fury and raised his sword, charging forward with the intent of slaying Arizael if that's what it took to free Jukes. But a small feather-weight calico cat beat him to his destination.  
  
All Mullins saw was a brown, tan, orange, and white streak zip past him. The creature lept up to land on Arizael's face, spitting and growling with claws fully extended.  
  
A flash of white light and a force unseen threw Mullins off balance and sent him crashing backwards into Cecco and Mason. All three hit the floor and the light filled the room, so bright they had to cover their eyes for fear of being blinded.  
  
Robert could not hear anything over the rush of blood to his ears, but he knew that he had screamed Jukes' name at least once. The light dimmed into a haze and finally, the pirates could open their eyes.  
  
All was silent in the cottage; the birds had found their escape route up the chimney though some laid still on the ground, having killed themselves by crashing into the walls.  
  
"_Billy!_" Mullins cried out, hoarsely, and once the spots had stopped impairing his vision, he was able to see Billy curled up on the ground, lying on his side. The cat was immobile beside him and out of the three, only Arizael was showing signs of life. She brought herself to her hands and knees and with a hiss, crawled under the table.  
  
Disregarding her in her weakened state, Robert lifted the boy and turned him over on his back. The boy was breathing steadily, but not unconscious . . . his eyes were open and pupils shrunken to pinpoints in the pools of his brown irises, staring into nothingness.  
  
"Is he blind?" Mason asked, while Cecco checked over Starkey and Smee who were beginning to stir.  
  
"I dunno . . ." Robert admitted. Mason snapped his fingers in front of Jukes' face and the boy didn't even flinch. "Jukes, come back to us, please, come on!" Mullins pleaded, shaking the young gypsy. Mason looked over at the cat and saw that it too was breathing but, like Jukes, with eyes wide open and unfocused.  
  
"What happened?" Starkey asked, staggering to his feet.  
  
"We gotta leave this place, now."  
  
"But what about Arizael? She's in the same condition and if we can finish her off--"  
  
A low hiss came from underneath the table and the men backed away. "I've still enough power left in me to deal with you. If you want to live, then leave."  
  
"What did you do to Billy?" snarled Robert, still cradling the boy in his arms.  
  
Arizael was silent for a while, then with some reluctance she answered.  
  
"You'll find out soon enough."  
  


* * *

  
Hook sneered as the braves aimed their weapons at him, but made no move to attack. Even with his healing powers, they still had the power to rip him into pieces. And quite a few of them looked as if they wanted nothing more than to see him rendered thus.  
  
Lean Wolf, vengeful for the sake of Clear-Water-Frog and Deer Star who had fallen to Hook's sword, was preparing to deal a potentially fatal blow when a voice commanded the braves to lower their arms.  
  
Chief Panther strode out of the surrounding wood, followed by Hard-to-Hit and other members of their scouting party. They walked with an air of exhaustion more then triumph; even Hard-to-Hit had no pride in his eyes for surviving his first battle.  
  
"He is not responsible for this," spoke Great-Big-Little-Panther. His voice carried over the protests that raised up at these words. "No man of mortal flesh is responsible for what has happened here . . . or for what is happening to all of Neverland."  
  
"Great Chief, that is no man! Hook is a demon!" cried out Lean Wolf.  
  
"He is controlled by a demon, Lean Wolf. But he is no demon. He is being manipulated by the witch, Arizael, who lives there, on the top of that mountain!" The Chief pointed towards the west, and though dusk had fallen and cloaked most of Neverland, the braves could still see Witch's Peak standing formidably against the darkened sky.  
  
The braves stared at it with determination, and turned back to Hook. "Leave, then, Hook," growled Swift Fox. "If you come here again, we will not be merciful."  
  
"Hand over the boy and the traitorous scugs who helped him escape me, and I will have no reason to return," Hook replied, and felt the tip of a spear press against his throat.  
  
"You are in no position to bargain."  
  
"Very well," Hook sneered. With as much dignity as he could muster, he turned on his heel and walked away, letting the darkness swallow him up.  
  
Women and children's voices raised up in surprise and the braves turned to see forms flying toward the village and coming down low to the ground to land there. Soon, the Lost Boys and Wendy had alighted on the ground before Chief Panther.  
  
"What happened to you?" The Chief and Slightly asked at the same time; Slightly noticing the wreckage of the village, and Great Panther seeing the wounded Nibs.  
  
"Peter attacked us!" Tootles cried out.  
  
Chief Panther stiffened. "Peter has awakened?"  
  
"He's got the same thing Hook's got," Slightly informed him. "And he flew out towards the Underground House. Tink and I went after him."  
  
"And shortly after that, Hook and the pirates attacked the village!" piped up Maegie, weaving her way through the crowd. They made a path for her and she ran to Slightly.  
  
"What was that blue smoke we all saw while heading over here?" Curly asked. "It was _huge!_"  
  
Maegie turned an unsightly shade of red and lowered her head.  
  
"So that was you, young woman?" the Chief asked, raising an eyebrow but smiling nonetheless. "I'd appreciate it if next time you used a little less Blue Water Serpent powder."  
  
"I didn't know what it was," Maegie muttered, sheepishly.  
  
"You saved our village with it, and that calls for no apology."  
  
"And tomorrow, we go to take down the witch. She will not do this to us again!" growled Lean Wolf, and a chorus of assent followed his bold words.  
  
"Don't count on it," spoke a weary voice.  
  
Maegie and Slightly turned to see Mullins, Mason, Starkey, Smee, and Cecco; Mason cradling the calico and Mullins holding Jukes' still body.  
  


* * *

  
The wounded were not too many; unfortunately, Hook's blade had left little or no suffering in its wake. More cairns were raised than wounds tended to that night, and the women's wailing must have reached the stars, for they would not show themselves as brightly.  
  
Slightly, Maegie, Wendy, and a few other lost boys had wanted to help with the wounded, but the women sent them gently away, telling them to look instead after their children and keep their minds occupied from the sad business. So Hard-to-Hit, Tiger Lily, Wendy, the Lost Boys (with the exception of Nibs who was getting his wound treated), and even some of the pirates sat around the campfires telling stories, comforting, and talking with the Indian children to help them better cope with their fear and loss. Maegie and Slightly did this too, although they went in and out of tipis frequently to check on Billy, Noodler, and Nibs.  
  
Chief Panther did not know what was wrong with Jukes or the calico.  
  
"What did Arizael say, exactly, when you asked her what she did?" he asked Cecco.  
  
"She said that we would find out 'soon enough'."  
  
"Then . . . we can do nothing until something changes . . . until we discover what is wrong."  
  
The calico twitched its paw, suddenly, and blinked, slowly. Anxiously, Mullins and Cecco looked to Jukes for a similar reaction, but there was nothing. "It might take him longer to recover," Panther explained.  
  
The Chief reached out to touch the cat and heard her give a weak mewl in response.  
  
"Chief, Cecco, look!" Mullins cried.  
  
Billy's pupils were growing to their normal size and his breathing had begun to quicken. He closed his eyes tightly, and with a sigh of relief, Robert lifted him into a sitting position and nearly crushed the boy in a hug.  
  
"Robert?" Jukes' voice sounded small and lost, a far cry from the young pirate who had flung himself at the witch to save his friends just a few hours ago.  
  
"Lad, I thought I'd lost you . . ." Mullins pulled him back and from the look on the gypsy's face, there was still something wrong . . . "What's the matter?"  
  
"I remember . . . I remember everything . . ."  
  
"Wh-what?"  
  
"Everything . . . and much more than I should," Jukes whispered. "Her face . . . her voice . . . the way she held me after I was flogged . . . the way she screamed my name when they rowed me to that island and left me there to die . . ."  
  
Tears were beginning to fall from the boy's eyes and Mullins gently wiped them away with his fingertips. "Billy, shhh . . . you don't have to talk about it if you don't want . . . not now. Just rest, lad."  
  
"It's her," Billy said, raggedly. "It wasn't just an illusion. She . . . _Arizael_ . . . is my mother . . ."  
  
Mullins was rendered speechless, and could only hold Jukes as sobs began to rack the young pirate's body.  
  
The look he exchanged with Cecco and the Chief, however, spoke as clear as any words could be. _What now?_  
  
  
  


To Be Continued

  



	4. Soul Cages 4

Billy stared up at the canvas of the teepee looming over him as he lay quietly, trying to piece together his thoughts. So much had happened - so much that he had forgotten. Myriad emotions clamored over him all at once. Hatred, sorrow, love, guilt, anger . . . mostly anger. 

The rustle of the teepee's opening made him turn his face. "Mullins?" he guessed, squinting through the darkness.

"It's me. And Maegie," Slightly whispered, stepping aside to let her in as well. "Billy, is it true? We've heard -- well, slightly a _lot_ of things." 

"About Arizael?" Jukes replied, betraying no emotion in his voice.

"Well, yes, but are you sure? It seems slightly ridiculous--" Slightly bit his lip, realizing that wasn't the most tactful thing to have said. "Sorry."

Despite himself, Billy had to try hard not to smile. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry, Jukes. But I have to admit I'm slightly curious." 

"He's sorta got a point. How do you know Arizael's your mother?" Maegie asked.

"My mother's_ real_ name is Daneatra. I guess I'd better start from the beginning?" Billy asked, seeing the confused looks Slightly and Maegie shared. They nodded and sat down beside him on the bunk. 

As the boy started his tale, one other was crouched before the teepee watching them quietly. The cat had left soon after she had awoken, panicking . . . overwhelmed by all the imagery and the memories that shouldn't have been hers by any natural means. She fled to the forest, questions burning in her mind . . . human questions. What was she? _Who_ was she?

She might have continued to run all night if she hadn't heard sobbing fading behind her . . . _her son_ . . . and immediately after those words had appeared in her mind - words she was able to _read_ and _understand_ - she stopped. She knew what the boy meant to her now; why she had reacted the way she had upon the first sight of him. He was her son . . . but how was it possible?

And by what sweet miracle was he alive?

One question led to many and this time she had the answers in her mind. They were so jumbled and tangled with fears and doubts that she had to digest them slowly, one at a time. Slowly she had begun to understand all that had befallen her. Now it was emotions rather than questions that churned within her. 

She didn't know what to feel; what to do in response to those questions. Confusion mounting, the calico closed her eyes, fluffed up her fur, and just stayed still - listening to her son's voice as he told what he remembered, adding her own memories to fill where his were lacking. 

* * *

She should never have gotten on the ship. 

Daneatra cursed every fiber of her _being_ for getting on the ship.

They were both going to die. She bit her lip angrily; now wasn't the time for such thoughts. She and her son were still alive, and she would prefer for Billy at least to stay that way, if not her.

Another scream erupted from above her hiding place and the boy at her side closed his eyes tighter. Daneatra's heart broke. She knew he could still hear the screams even though his hands were pressed against his ears, attempting to blot out all sound of the hideous slaughter going on above. 

_Someone else could be down here_, Daneatra thought sadly. _Someone else with a child to hide could be safe from the horrors up there; if not for long, then at least for a moment or two. Billy and I would be at home and away from all this, and someone else could be sheltered from --_

"Get away from me!!!" shrieked a young woman's voice. Daneatra started, - heart in her throat - and drew her feet underneath her to get up. 

"No! Mom, where are you going?!" Billy cried, grabbing her arm. 

"Someone's in trouble."

"I'm coming too, then!" he insisted. 

"No, you are not. No matter what you hear, stay right--"

Daneatra was cut off by another scream from the girl. Billy watched her scramble out of their hiding place and disappear. _She's brave_, he thought to himself, feeling a twinge of admiration through his fear. _But I don't want her to die_ . . . _Please, hurry back, Mom. _The eight-year old boy drew his knees to his chest and listened as hard as he could for any sign that his mother was in trouble. 

He didn't have to wait long. 

A loud shout from the men - probably the ones whom the young woman had been shouting at - and the sound of metal clanging on metal made the boy jump to his feet. He stood still, listening to the fight, trying to discern without luck what was happening, until finally a scream jolted him into action. Daneatra's scream. 

* * *

She had found the sword gripped tightly in the hand of a pirate corpse. Daneatra had no idea how to use a sword; but she had handled knives before, so she had begun to search the body for one. 

The girl gave a shriek, and a resounding slap followed by the men's raucous laughter brought a dark look to the gypsy woman's face. There was no time to look for more suitable weapons. It was now, or never. 

"Hey, Mack, leave some of her for me," leered one of the pirates, watching as the other man advanced onto the cowering young woman. 

"Get away from me!" she cried, to be answered only with sneers. 

"Don't worry, m'love, it won't hurt," smirked Mack, reaching for her skirt. 

"But this will!" cried a new voice. A blur streaked into the room and charged Mack. The surprised pirate stepped back hastily and tripped, landing hard on the floor. A swoosh where his head had been less than a second ago told him he'd been a hairsbreadth from losing his life. 

"What is this?!" yelled one of the men, drawing his blade. "A bloody Amazon!? Take her down!" He charged forward and Daneatra gave a yelp, bringing the sword in front of her as a shield. The man's blade bounced off it, resulting in a loud clang. He stepped back and brought the sword up again for a new attack. Daneatra froze, uncertain as to what to do, but she did not let her inexperience show in her face. The man attacked again and miraculously she blocked the blow, as well as the next one, and the next. 

The men were clearly not expecting a woman to be a match for even one of them, and it showed in their hesitation to charge her all at once. The pirate stopped his swordplay and stepped back, waiting for her to go on the offensive. Waiting for her to make a mistake. Which is precisely what she did. 

"She's no swordsmaster. Just lucky!" Mack shouted to the others, seeing her awkward defensive stance. He got up with a grunt and Daneatra noticed a small knife at his belt. She smiled. _This_ was more like it. 

Without warning, one of the men kicked the sword out of her hand and it flew to the other side of the room with a loud clatter. A shove sent her into Mack's waiting arms and Daneatra couldn't believe her luck. A heavily muscled pirate stalked toward her and raised a hand to strike her into submission. The girl whimpered, but Daneatra didn't even flinch. 

Before the hand impacted with her face, the knife was out of Mack's scabbard and making a red line across the muscled pirate's face while a kick to his stomach sent him bowling back into the crowd of onlooking seamen. They yelled and fell under his weight. Daneatra elbowed Mack in the stomach, but he recovered quickly and slammed her against the wall. The knife flew from her fingers as she slid down, dazed. A kick to her ribs caused her to scream in pain, but she lashed out with a kick of her own. Mack grunted, face turning purple, as he staggered back with both hands cupped around the front of his trousers. The muscled pirate had gotten up by this point, and Daneatra winced as he started toward her again, remembering the kick to her ribs and wondering how badly _this_ was going to hurt.

A small bone-handled dagger flew across the room and struck the man in the shoulder like a dart. He roared a curse and pulled it out, eyes roaming about for the perpetrator.

"Leave them alone!" yelled a boy's voice and Daneatra's eyes widened in horror as the muscled pirate turned away from her and snapped the boy up in his large hands, ignoring his kicking and struggling. 

"Billy!" Daneatra shrieked, struggling to her feet. Two pirates held her in arrest, restraining her from reaching the boy. 

"You pricked me with your little dagger, didn't you?" rumbled the larger man, staring hard into Billy's eyes. He looked back defiantly. Daneatra caught her breath, wondering what horrible thing the man was going to do to her son. After a long, horrible, tense moment, one corner of the pirate's mouth turned up in the barest hint of a smile. "You must be very brave. Do ye still _feel_ brave, dangling there like a rabbit?" 

"Yeah."

"An' so fearless? Ain't ye afraid I'll cut you with _my_ dagger?" The man sneered, waiting for the boy to start crying and begging for mercy.

"If you leave my mom alone, you won't _have_ to," Billy said, trying to sound as menacing as he possibly could. The pirates exchanged incredulous looks with one another, before roaring with laughter. 

The man deposited Billy on the ground and gave him a shove toward Daneatra. "Take back your brat, woman. You and the other one are coming with us. We'll get at least _some_ entertainment before we gut you."

Daneatra caught him as he stumbled toward her and pulled him into her arms. "I told you to stay put," she whispered fiercely, trying to sound angry. But she couldn't be angry with him at all. He had heard her scream and because he loved her, had tried to come to her aid. It was impossible for her to scold him, especially since these were to be their last moments together . . .

The young woman choked back a sob and buried her face in Daneatra's shoulder. "Don't show fear," Daneatra whispered to her firmly, though her own heart was pounding in her chest. 

"_Aye_, show fear! Ye ladies and laddie are prisoners now - prisoners of Cap'n Flint! Even _I'm_ afraid of that villainous scug!" crowed a scrawny man, overhearing Daneatra. "Now get to yer feet and march. Your men are down, dead, and waitin' for a hot brand to set their pyre alight."

With a shout, the younger woman lept to her feet. "It's not true!" she yelled in defiance, tears slipping down her cheeks. "My husband would never have fallen to the likes of you!"

Daneatra closed her eyes in sympathy. The woman's husband had been among those fighting. And was now probably among those dead. 

"Don't worry, then lassie. If it's a man you've lost, you'll get one of us, aye?" Mack joked, elbowing one of his comrades. 

"I don't want any one of you!" she spat, wild with grief. "And I don't care if you kill me because of it! If my love's dead then I'd rather die anyway," the young woman said bitterly. The room was silent for a moment or two, most of the men perhaps wishing they had a woman who'd grieve for them should _they_ fall.

"Enough talk. Let's go," said one of them at length. Daneatra, Billy, and the girl were escorted above deck where Captain Flint and the rest of his entourage waited with their own loot and prisoners.

Daneatra let the girl lean on her, offering commiseration, comfort, anything she could. "What is your name?" she asked gently. 

"Ann Bracke--" saying her husband's last name choked her, but she swallowed and gathered her resolve. "Brackeen. And yours?"

"Daneatra Jukes. This is my son, Billy."

"Thank you - both of you - for trying to save me. For as long as it lasts, I owe you my life." Ann broke down then, for she saw her husband's still body laying sprawled on the deck, a pool of his life's blood underneath him. She turned away, her heart torn, and wept unashamedly into her hands.

* * *

Vanessa Devane popped yet another grape into her mouth as she watched the prisoners being herded across the planks to the Walrus. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the pirates still aboard the defeated ship bursting open barrels in search of food or valuables, spreading pitch on the deck and getting everything ready for the bonfire to follow. The bonfire was her favorite part. Her lover was infamous for sending back undesirable women and the surviving men who were too weak or stubborn to be useful and burning them alive along with the dead. 

Their shrieks for mercy made her smile. It was almost like the times of old when human sacrifices were burned to deities, only this time, the sacrifice was made to her. Flint had said she was his Goddess, and she knew he had been sincere. No other woman he had sworn this to, not even the old hag Flint had been saddled with before Vanessa had been captured from a royal cargo ship and found herself in the Captain's good graces. Before that, she'd been the maidservant to some snotty Duke's daughter, but now it was_ she_ who had power. 

Vanessa turned a critical eye to the women marching aboard, searching for a pretty face that might turn the head of her husband. Some of them were crying; good, it was hard to feel attracted to anyone who was red-faced and bewailing their sorry state. As many presents and terms of endearment Flint showered upon Vanessa, she could not help but take measures to ensure nobody would unsurp her the way she had Flint's older mistress. Even_ that_ had been a stroke of divine luck . . . from a source Vanessa would never expose. 

Flint took a seat by his mistress' side and gave a wave of his hand once the prisoners had been assembled and all was ready. Seeing the signal, the pirates moved forward as one body. Shrieks of fear and anger raised up stimultaneously as the pirates forcibly chose the women they wanted somethimes raising their voices in argument with one another. 

Billy saw a nearby woman dragged away and clung to Daneatra, afraid the same fate would befall her if he dared let go. He felt her comforting hand on his back tighten suddenly as she stiffened and gave a cry of outrage. Billy looked up to see a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and reaching up to feel her bosom. Daneatra snarled like a cat and slammed her heel down onto the man's foot. He let go, grunting in surprise, but not before Billy saw the pistol hanging from the man's belt.

"You're funeral," the pirate growled warningly, and limped away, minus both dignity and a loaded weapon. Once he was out of earshot, Billy handed the weapon to Daneatra and smiled. 

She snatched it from him immediately. "You be careful with weapons like this; you could hurt yourself," she scolded, then raised the pistol, and aimed at Flint. _I love you, Billy_, she told him with her heart, in case it was the last thought she ever had. _And I am going to kill this bastard, whatever it takes._

A nearby guard saw this movement and lunged forward seconds too late as she fired.

* * *

Vanessa shrieked, all but falling out of her chair as a bullet whizzed by her face. A second one made a good-sized hole in Flint's hat and set his ears to ringing. A third, followed by a fourth richocheted harmlessly past them, biting into the wood of the cabin behind him. Flint's eyes roamed for the would-be assassin and saw a guard struggling with a dark-skinned woman - probably of Indian or gypsy descent - forcing the gun out of her hand. Even with her other arm pinned behind her back, and her gun-hand seized by the wrist, she was still trying to fire at him, or at least to tilt the gun far back enough to blow the guard's face off.

The guard finally got control, what with both another young female and a boy kicking his shins with all their might, and wrested the gun out of the gypsy woman's hand while other guards raced to hold the two prisoners aiding her in arrest.

Triumphant, the pirate subdued Daneatra and aimed the pistol at her head, barking a question to Flint. As he could not hear over the ringing in his ears, the message was relayed to him by word of mouth. 

"Kill her, Captain?" 

Vanessa looked at him, her face a mask of fury. She nodded, then turned a glaring countenance back to the gypsy woman. But Flint, as angry as he might have been at the woman's attempt on his life, could not help but feel admiration for her courage. Not to mention admiration for _other_ certain aspects of her . . . 

"Bring her to me," Flint replied to the messenger. "Alive." He stared ahead, avoiding Vanessa's cold calculating eyes.

* * *

"NO! Leave her alone!" a young voice cried out in distress.

Another pirate forcibly held the boy back as Daneatra was hauled to her feet, both arms twisted behind her. "I won't let you kill her!" Billy screamed, struggling with all his might. 

"Stop squrimin', brat!" scowled a skinny pirate, hard pressed to keep Billy from tearing free without having to injure him. 

"Just knock 'em out, Jakob," ordered one of the guards. "Make it easy on yourself."

"What the hell is wrong with you? He's just a little kid -- OW!!! Here, stop that!" Jakob shouted as Billy sunk his teeth into the man's arm. 

"Billy," Daneatra said sternly, though her heart beat in terror. "Obey him."

At once the boy froze in Jakob's arms. "But --"

"Be still," the gypsy woman commanded. "_Hai shala_?" 

Before Billy could answer, Daneatra was dragged out of his sight and toward the waiting Captain of _The Walrus. _

"Good luck to her," murmured Jakob under his breath, and Billy could hear him quite plainly. "She's gonna need it."

* * *

Daneatra stared back into the Captain's blue eyes, trying her best not to show fear. It wasn't hard to do; her fear was swiftly being overidden by scorn for this man -- this pig-headed slaughterer. And scorn too, for the blonde _chovihani_ sitting smugly by his side. 

"Well?" Flint was saying, eyes wandering over her form. "Haven't you anything to say?"

"You're the one who had me dragged before you. What is it you want?" she answered back. 

The Captain blinked. "So, you do not have any regrets for ending your life?"

"My only regret was that I missed. I should have aimed lower - at your heart - and let you bleed to death. Not tried to grant you the quick mercy of a head-wound."

Vanessa sneered. "Your aim was off as it was, apparently. You didn't even manage to nick us."

"If I _had_ hit you, I doubt I would have damaged much anyway," Daneatra retorted, indicating Vanessa's head with a dismissive wave of her hand. Daneatra was slightly surprised at her boldness, wondering if she had unconsciously prepared for death the moment she'd been marched into captivity on this dreadful ship. However, she could feel nothing but contempt - for both the man and woman before her. Especially for the woman; what kind of creature could look upon the victims of such a gruesome attack who yet waited for their own slaughter, and look so _happy_? At least the man had the decency to look grim.

Vanessa was no longer happy as Daneatra had first glimpsed her; in fact she looked rather put out to say the very least. Her blue eyes were daggers of ice, seeking to tear Daneatra apart, if only such a gaze had the power. Flint looked more amused than anything else, and his eyes had not stopped roaming over Daneatra's well-formed body.

"Such bravery, I believe," -- _and such beauty_, he added mentally - "deserves a reward. I have never met a woman who showed no fear before me or any man."

Daneatra could not resist the temptation. "Well, judging from the example you have sitting beside you, I shouldn't wonder why you'd think most women were simpering, cowardly, --."

Vanessa leaped to her feet, bristling. "Shut your insolent mouth, witch! You clearly have no idea who you are _talking_ to!"

"I don't care who you are. It's _what_ you are that makes all the difference. Sitting up here on your arse, impartial to the suffering of others! Living in the clothes and jewels of those slain for such goods! I see blood on you, blood of the deceased! You are _ma'rime!_ Unclean and unwhole!"

"Oh, you're breaking my heart," sneered Vanessa. "Flint, darling, let her hang. She will only turn on you again if you let her live."

"When she improves her aim, Vanessa, dearest, _then_ I shall worry," Flint replied, and the men near enough to hear him snickered. Livid, Vanessa sat back down and regarded the gypsy hotly. "As I was saying," Flint continued, "I grant you a reward. You may take back your life, if you wish."

"And do what? Swim to freedom?" Daneatra asked coldly. Vanessa smirked, and Daneatra knew she was liable to go too far. The gypsy bit her tongue and decided for a more humble approach. Perhaps she could yet save Billy. "_My_ life? My life is nothing to me. But my son --"

"Your son, of course," Flint said, raising a hand. "Anyone else you think is fit to save, I will also spare. For you. The time to speak for them is now. You will never again catch me in such a generous mood."

Vanessa could not tear her eyes away from Flint. Was he being serious? His face was unreadable; perhaps he was, and perhaps he wasn't. Maybe this was a test. Yes. If Daneatra asked for too many to be spared, he would frown upon her as taking advantage of him. And then, Vanessa thought deliciously, he would kill her. And her brat.

Perhaps _everyone_ they had taken prisoner. It had been a while since there'd been a good bonfire. 

And the gypsy _would_ try to save everyone, judging from the preaching she had just given Vanessa. So pathetic. As of now, Daneatra was looking down, wondering 'Who to save, who to save?' Flint was going to take back his offer if she dallied any longer. Vanessa looked down and smirked with glee as she saw every prisoner's upturned face staring at Daneatra; obviously having heard or gotten wind of the boon Flint had given this woman. Oh, such pressure . . . maybe they would start crying out for her to save them if she omitted their names. What despair she'd feel then! Suddenly, Vanessa was very proud of her husband, and she leaned back to watch the show. This was _so_ much better than a hanging.

Daneatra truly was at a loss. As much as she wanted to save everyone, she knew it was impossible. The ship was crowded with brigands as it was and there was hardly breathing space from the massive cluster of prisoners herded in the center of the deck. Where would the water and food to feed them come from? And though the captain would spare them, what would stop a brigand from slitting a throat here and there? 

There were women, too, who grieved and would serve naught but as an unwilling bed-slave; women who'd rather throw themselves overboard than be faithless just to survive. Ann was one of these; though Daneatra hoped fervently she would not join the ranks of those wishing for death. There were men also, who - though afraid of death - would sooner die than turn against their country as buccaneers. Daneatra could not determine who among the crowd these brave and tortured souls were, but she knew how she could give those who still wanted to hang on to life a chance. 

"Whoever wishes to serve you loyally," she said, so lowly that even the Captain himself strained to hear, "Let them. If they break their oath, or refuse . . . do with them as you will."

Flint studied her for a moment and then smiled. "It pleases me to know that you don't have the silly notion you can save everybody. There will be execution, yes. But out of respect for you, it will not be by pain of fire. You are wise, woman, and it pleases me. Though I regret to inform you, there will most likely be very few who pledge to serve me loyally." 

Daneatra nodded numbly. Vanessa, who had been on the verge of crying protest at Flint's ridiculous generosity, noticed with satisfaction that Daneatra was broken anyway. Her husband motioned for the guards to take her back to where her son awaited. Daneatra followed without incident, brushing mutely past those who reached out to her, plucking her sleeve, asking her what she had chosen; such a multitude of hopeful voices that Daneatra wished herself deaf so as not to hear them.

"I will see you soon again, young woman. This time, I hope, on a less murderous occasion," Flint called after her.

Vanessa sighed testily and crossed her legs. "Well?" she asked her husband. "Let's get this over with."

Flint stood up and immediately the whispering questions and anxious voices were quieted. As one, the prisoners looked to him for the answers.

* * *

"She blames herself for it all. Poor dove," spoke a gentle voice.

"None of them that died woulda done any good on a pirate ship. Woulda just died anyway from exhaustion; slavin' away in the galleys or under the sun. They woulda gone through hell, you know. She did right," spoke another, slightly gruffer, but no less gently.

"Aye, that she did," piped up a third, "But that doesn't mean it was easy to do." 

Daneatra opened her eyes, just as the voices slipped away, out of her reach. Ann was beside her on the pallet, asleep still. Daneatra took in a ragged breath, remembering how the girl had clung to her - how they had clung to each other and Billy, weeping as men and women threw themselves overboard to drown. How could they have done otherwise when faced with what options they had? Die now, die later, or die inside and live on as an empty shell for as long as nourishment would sustain them. 

She felt as if she had killed everyone; even those who had agreed to serve under Flint, pledging their loyalty by both swordpoint and perhaps wild hopes of escape or rescue. If this was to have been a punishment for attempting to kill the Captain and his lover, it had been more painful than ever they could hope. However, Daneatra knew that as horrible as this day had been for her, it must've been far worse for Billy.

Daneatra turned her head to gaze on his sleeping body, only to find the covers tossed back and the pallet empty. Panic seized her heart. "Billy? Where are you?" she said, sitting up and looking about frantically. 

Soft footsteps in the darkness had the gypsy woman on her feet in the next instant. She sighed with relief, seeing her son step into the light.

"Where did you go?" she demanded, placing her hands on her hips.

"To get you and Mistress Ann some water," Billy answered, handing her a mug of the cool liquid.

"Alone? All by yourself?" Daneatra's voice was filled with anger and fear.

"I had a friend. One of the men -- his name's Jakob -- he came and asked if I'd like some water to drink. You were asleep so I thought you'd like some when you waked."

Daneatra took the mug and sat down on the pallet wearily. Billy felt a twinge of guilt and sat next to her. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"It's all right. I was just frightened." Daneatra's arm wrapped around his shoulders and held him close to her. "As long as you're allright . . . I can live."

Billy stared up at his mother, disturbed at her words. Her once carelessly-smiling face was lined with sorrow, such as he had never seen before. Not that he could blame her. After what both of them had seen, Billy wondered if she would ever smile again. His heart aching, he leaned against her, resting his head on her arm. Her hand lifted to stroke his raven-black hair, which was forever falling in his eyes.

"How are you taking this, Billy? Are you . . . are you allright?"

"I wished we hadn't left home--" Billy cursed himself for his stupidity as soon as he saw his mother's eyes brimming with tears. "I'm sorry," he started, but Daneatra shook her head. 

"No, I understand. We should never have left."

"But we had to," the boy insisted, trying to make Daneatra feel better. "We had to get away from the soldiers who kept chasing us and killing the others. Just 'cause we were Romany. . ."

Daneatra nodded, biting her lip. That had not been the real reason for her and Billy's departure at sea . . . the boy was fatherless now, and had no man to accept him into the fold of the caravan. Ociel had died at sea before the boy's birth. Such ill luck was said to have been passed onto her son, but then it had only been a superstition whispered among the old crones of the caravan; a rumor dismissed with a wave of a hand. Then, the killings had begun. Billy had only been six when the crones first came forward, pointing at him and Daneatra accusingly. 

_"Demon! He brought the soldiers here; he will kill us all! You never should have kept him - he is bad luck!" _

Daneatra could _still _hear them shrieking. Just like she could still hear the children's taunts; still feel the sting of stones they and other gypsies threw while she shielded Billy from the onslaught. 

The rest of the caravan elders had rebuked the crones for their wild ravings that the boy had brought ill luck upon the gypsy clan, and dispelled the tormentors. But Daneatra saw the same accusatory glances - or worse, _pity_ - in their eyes, and couldn't stand it. It had been either let her son grow up in a tribe where no children would play with him for fear of getting cursed or becoming _m'arime_ - unclean - or to leave the mainland in search of another place where she and her son would not be scorned outcasts. 

Faced with the current circumstances, however, Daneatra would have gladly stayed an outcast. 

"Mom? You okay?" Jukes asked, breaking her out of her silent thoughts.

Daneatra was about to answer when a polite cough startled her. 

"I hope," spoke a man's voice, "That I'm not interrupting anything?" 

Daneatra stiffened and Billy felt her hand tighten on his shoulder. 

"Hello, Jakob," he politely greeted their visitor, letting his mother know that this man was not a threat. She relaxed, but did not remove her hand.

"Thank you, for giving us water." Daneatra sounded calm and at ease, though she was anything but at ease. 

"You're welcome."

"Your name is Jakob?"

"Aye, Jakob Combs. I'm one of the ship's gunners. And what you may call an amateur inventor," he added sheepishly.

Daneatra smiled faintly. "An inventor?" _On a pirate ship?_

"Aye, m'lady. Tis not a profession Flint is impressed with; my role as gunner is the important one. But enough about that -- it is your turn to tell me of yourself."

"And why would you want to know about me?" Daneatra asked suspiciously.

"We are shipmates now, m'lady. You are one of us. Are you not?"

Daneatra blinked and looked at Billy. _My god, he's right. We are . . . we are pirates now. _"But what good are we to him?" she mused aloud, becoming afraid. "We are not fighters . . ."

Jakob looked at her sincerely. "You are survivors, like all of us. We were not born into our professions, Daneatra. Fate led us to this ship - to the sea. We merely adapted in order to survive. Or," he added with a slight smirk. "To prosper."

"And to kill," Daneatra replied coldly.

Jakob flinched. "Massacres like this . . . yes, they are inexcusable. To more than just myself. Usually, if the other crew is wise, they will surrender and we let them go in peace. At least that's the way it used to be. But lately, Flint's been rather fond of killing and burning what he does not find profit in. Ever since he took that woman Vanessa into his arms . . ." Jakob trailed off with a grimace. 

"She's as cold as hoarfrost," mutter Daneatra. "I've known some witches in my day, but this one rivals them all."

"You've barely met her," Jakob chuckled. "Yet, you describe her as I would. By the by, you certainly rubbed her the wrong way. I've never seen her pout so sourly. And Flint looked as if he cared not . . . he'll pay in bed for that."

"What's she going to do to his bed?" Billy asked, not understanding.

Daneatra flushed and Jakob bit his lower lip to keep from laughing at the boy's innocence. 

"Well," Jakob said, once he had control of his mirth, "I believe I should get back to my duties. In the meantime, you ought to think of what your own role will be. There are men here who will gladly teach you the art of swordfighting; I hear by word of mouth that you've got potential. And those pick-pocketing skills are coveted by at least five of my comrades."

The gypsy woman opened her mouth and was silenced as Jakob held up a hand. "But first, orders are that you all get rest, food, and time to yourself to get used to your surroundings. The other men and women who clung to life as you did may not be so lucky."

"Flint will not kill them--?"

"No, he will not kill them, nor will he allow them to kill themselves. If they are useful to him, then here they will stay as pirates. But if not, they will be sold as bondservants. You all have a fortnight to find your place and skill on this ship. The boy is an exception, of course, since he is so young. As for the woman beside you . . . ask her if she can cook. Our chef was killed in battle today."

Before Daneatra or Billy could say another word, he was gone. Behind them, Ann moaned and curled into a tighter ball, whispering her husband's name. 

* * *

A crash and dull tinkle was heard from without the cabin as a wineglass collided with the wall. 

"Who does that _zingara_ think she is?" Vanessa hissed incredulously, clenching her fist so hard she nearly drew her own blood. Nobody had talked to her like that. _Ever_. Nobody was _supposed_ to talk to her like that -- not unless . . .

Fear seized her heart. Vanessa got to her feet and left her chambers, ducking into a smaller opening which led to the maze of hallways that was the forecastle. A case of winding stairs twisted down before her and she took them slowly, descending into the gloom of darkness below the many layers of the Walrus. Sunlight barely straggled through the cracks, lighting tiny rays of dust particles. Vanessa counted as she climbed down until she reached twenty, then stepped gingerly over a broken stair and continued down. 

All was quiet this far below the deck. Not even the rats made their nests in the corners of this particular chamber. Only a small table existed down here, with a candle made of pig's fat and a statuette resting on its slightly uneven surface. 

Vanessa produced a match, lit the candle's wick, and reverently knelt before the statuette. "Great Mother, hear my calling. Come to me._ Arachnorum nostramus, arachnorum magdus, arachnorum lokirus._"

No wind ever managed to gust its way down to the lower levels of the ship. Nevertheless, the candle's flame sputtered and all but blew out. Vanessa gasped, feeling the cold bite into her flesh, past her clothes of velvet and lace. Despite her discomfort, Her eyes remained riveted on the statuette as its wooden eyes glowed amber with unearthly warmth. 

Feeling a chill race up her spine that had nothing to with the coldness of the room, Vanessa bowed so respectfully that her forehead pressed against the wood of the floor. 

"What have you called me for?" inquired a low, grating voice. 

"My . . . my Lady . . . if I may ask a boon . . ." 

"Yet another favor, Vanessa? I tire of your predictability."

Vanessa swallowed, regaining her composure. "My husband, today, has gazed upon another woman. And I fear, she has stolen his heart away."

"Someone prettier than you? No, never!" the voice gasped, in mock dismay. "What has this woman dared to receive the attentions of your husband?"

"She did nothing save for shoot at him with a pistol and nearly take off his head . . . set both our ears to ringing, the impertinent little . . ."

"Enough. If you have nothing of interest to tell me, then I shall begone. Did your husband do something unusual for a man whose eyes wander more than you'd care to admit, or was he simply smitten by this woman's figure? Come now, out with it!"

"Forgive me, my Lady, there was something else . . . Flint called off the bonfire."

The room was deadly silent and Vanessa winced, almost able to feel the heat of the Goddess' ire raising. 

"He called off the bonfire?" repeated the voice, incredulously. 

"Yes, your Grace . . ." Vanessa replied nervously. 

"Stop brown-nosing and tell me exactly what he said when he called this off," hissed the diety.

Vanessa told Her everything, and when she had finished, the Goddess moved closer to her, until She stood directly above the cringing woman. "Vanessa," She whispered, almost in a fond tone, "You were right to tell me of this. This woman is trouble for the both of us."

Relieved, Vanessa breathed deeply and grinned in satisfaction. "Yes, m'Lady, that she is. Will you kill her?"

"No."

Startled, Vanessa almost looked up, save for she remembered that to gaze upon the Goddess' face would be a sign of disrespect and thus, would end her life. Even if She _was_ a forgotten diety Vanessa had woken by chance, and now served faithfully in return for favors and rewards, Arizael was by no means weakened by the lack of worshippers. Not too weak to be able to do away with Vanessa, at the very least. 

"_No_, m'Lady Arizael?"

"You will watch this woman closely for the next three years. Her actions, her words, the way Flint looks at her, the favors - if any - he does for her, _everything_. Neither harm her or seek harm against her, or any of her blood. I believe you told me she has a son? Watch their relationship closely. I want to know _everything_; you will leave nothing out. Is that clear?"

Vanessa's mouth was agape. This was the _second_ time fortune had smiled down upon that gypsy woman and Vanessa's legendary temper was about to run short, Arizael or no Arizael. "But . . . but _why_?" she sputtered. "This woman is a threat to us! Flint will cease the killing; he may even block you from controlling him! Without blood and fear to feed on, how will you live?"

"There will be blood, Vanessa, fear not. Whether it be yours or another's. Yours, most likely, if you do not cease that caterwauling. You will do as I say, however unhappy it makes you, and the gyspy woman you so despise will fall into my hands and be destroyed. Is that not what you want?"

Pleased now, Vanessa nodded, a sadistic smile on her face. 

"Forget not, that you also owe me a tithe of flesh and blood by the end of those three years. As promised in exchange for the favors I have granted you in the past."

"Aye, m'Lady," the blonde pirate queen nodded, remembering her oath. A tithe of flesh and blood . . . t'was easily done; surely she could lure someone foolish enough down here. Or maybe someone helpless, like the gypsy's young son. She would have to kill him anyway; it wouldn't do for the boy to grow up and take vengeance upon her for whatever happened to his mother.

"I shall depart now, but I will be watching." 

With that warning, the room ceased it's drop in temperature and retained normalcy - the struggling flame of the candle righted itself and glowed proudly for a few moments until Vanessa blew it out. 

"Thus will I extinguish _you_, gypsy," Vanessa sneered. "All in a matter of time."

* * *

Three years came and went, with some days bitter, and some worth the cost of living an outlaw's life. Billy had grown before Daneatra's eyes into an outgoing, confident young man. Also a very mischievous one. 

"Want some caviar, Ann?" he asked once, offering the woman a fresh, split open fish with black eggs still nestled in its belly. 

Daneatra had scolded him and Billy had apologized handsomely for making Ann scream and jump like that. Daneatra still chuckled at his antics, however. He was a good boy despite a few of his pranks getting him into deep water. Once, it had been only due to her intervention that Billy was spared from the wrath of an elder pirate who was _not_ amused to find a live minnow swimming around in his cup of grog.

"Pfffft! Blechhhhh! Why ya bloody little -- ! GET BACK HERE, YA BLIGHTER! I'll use yer ears for soap dishes!!!" said pirate had roared, chasing the boy around the deck while the latter cackled with glee.

"Ow! But it was protein!" the boy had yelped in protest, as Daneatra dragged him by the ear to their quarters for a little 'talk'.

Aside from Billy getting himself into various scrapes, life aboard the ship had been far more pleasant than Daneatra had anticipated. Yes, there were deaths and attacks on other ships -- attacks which neither Daneatra nor Billy had any part in - but the toll of slaughter was low. 

Flint's new and more merciful reputation had preceded him. It was now widely known among the rich and poor coasts alike that Flint had ceased the 'bonfires' he'd become so infamous for, and had decreed that any crew who surrendered unanimously to him - with not a pistol shot nor sword unsheathed - would be simply robbed of treasure and left in peace. Were the crew to rebel, bloodshed would occur, but only against those who raised their hands to fight. All others would be spared and sent on their way. It was a miraculous change in policy, thus many rum-ridden sailor's yarns consisted of Flint being visited by an angel and so taken by its serene beauty that he gave up his barbaric ways. 

Aye, Flint had been visited by an angel, allright, but he certainly hadn't given up his barbaric ways. As much as he was viewed a 'changed man' on the coast, on the ship he was not a force to be reckoned with. Unless it came to his angel . . . Daneatra. 

The man had been infatuated with her since the day she had fired on him with a stolen pistol. She had missed his head, but not his heart. He had fallen for her then, and he was falling now - more and more each day. His policy of mercy had been declared for her and her alone -- because he wanted to impress her; to lead her to believe he could be gentle. 

Flint had no apparently logical reason to do this; if he wanted Daneatra he could simply snap his fingers and she'd be dragged to his bed within the next twenty minutes. But no, he wanted to win her love unconditionally -- not to bed her like a common whore. She was worth far more to him than that. Worth more than even Vanessa. 

And though little he cared, Vanessa knew it well.

She glared at him as he practically slobbered all over himself as Daneatra walked past, talking with Ann. How she would have loved to kill Daneatra -- a simple slice across the throat with a knife; so swift the gypsy wouldn't have time to scream. Or hire a man to rape her - surely Flint wouldn't want a piece of soiled merchandise.

But Arizael had given strict orders -- the only barrier separating Vanessa's thoughts from her actions.

There were, however, other ways to skin a cat. If she could not get her claws into Daneatra . . . 

"Hello," she purred, stepping into the galley and startling Ann who was tending the fire. 

"Miss . . . Miss Devane!" Ann cried, wondering what the woman was doing here in such a lowly place. 

"Yes, so flattered you know my name. I just wanted to . . . congratulate you."

"Congratulate me?" Ann repeated, confused. Vanessa smiled thinly. Was the little mouse as stupid as she was spineless? Good. All the more fun to toy with. 

"It's not every day a poor, heartbroken widow makes a new life for herself on a pirate ship. So yes, congratulations. I'm sure your husband must be proud of you."

Ann smiled uneasily. "Th-thank you," she replied uncertainly and hoped Vanessa would leave. But the woman was not done yet. 

"Yes, proud of you," she went on, glibly, "For making peace with the very men who killed him. For feeding them. For forgiving so easily."

"F-Forgiveness is divine," Ann began, but Vanessa ignored her. 

"Proud of you for clinging to life - however miserable it turned out - rather than face death and go back to his arms, warm and safe in heaven. Why would any widow turn that down? Could it be you were forced into marriage with him?"

"No! I loved him, I did . . ." 

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself more than me," Vanessa smirked. "Maybe you've just gotten over him. Maybe you're eying another man to make you feel warm inside, to take the place of your husband on lonely nights. What does it matter to him anyway, he's dead after all, isn't he? Those tears you wept for him, you wept for yourself!"

"No!" Ann gasped, and felt her heart drop as the pirate witch's words sunk in. What _would_ he think of her? For not jumping overboard to join him in heaven? For exchanging friendly glances with the ship's inventor, Jakob, the other day? Was he hurt? Was he jealous? Her husband who had loved her with all his might, who had told her to go down below the decks and try to save herself while he kept the attacking pirates back? Who had died for her . . .?

"This is how you really felt for him, isn't it? He died to save you and here you are among the very brigands who slayed him!" Vanessa said, but without moving her mouth. It seemed to be echoing in Ann's head, so vague that she had to wonder if it wasn't her own thoughts and accusations instead of the other woman's. "He was too good for your unfaithfulness!"

Ann felt tears welling up in her eyes as she choked back a sob. What had she done? Wherever he was, whether in heaven or somewhere in between, he looked down upon her with grief and hurt inside him -- wondering why she was still down here befriending those who had separated them so cruelly. It was more than she could bear and Vanessa's next words pierced her even further. 

"He was waiting for you," she whispered in the younger woman's ear. "I felt him on the other side of the ship while the woman were jumping. He was waiting to catch you, to save you. I guess he didn't really need to after all, did he? You've done a fine job of saving yourself."

Feeling her heart shatter, Ann dropped to her knees sobbing quietly.

Hidden in the shadows, a young pair of eyes watched the entire display, and as tempted as their owner was to step forward and tell the pirate-lady to stop making Ann cry, he knew he should get someone else who'd make sure it stopped. Treading softly as cat's feet, the boy was gone in the next instant. 

Vanessa casually drew a knife from a garter-sheath on her thigh and handed it hilt-first to Ann. "Your husband was a forgiving man, wasn't he?" she asked, still manipulating Ann's thoughts to guilt - never letting up for an instant for fear the girl would get some sort of message not to do what Vanessa was hoping she would. She didn't have to worry. The girls' mind was weak and easy to control. Sneering derisively, she watched as Ann took the knife with a shaking hand. 

"Kill yourself," Vanessa suggested bluntly. "Put an end to this charade. I know you love him, as well as you do. But _he_ doesn't. It's time to prove yourself, Ann."

Ann Brackeen looked up, her face full of hope. Vanessa's voice had a different ring to it now; it was soft and full of understanding and kindness. The poor girl had no inkling that Vanessa was a two-faced monster; she could make her voice sound as sweet as a kindly grandmother's, no matter how menacing her motive was. 

"Do it, Ann. A clean cut. Across the wrist, just like this," she coaxed, miming the action. "It won't hurt for long, I promise. And when you wake up, you'll be in your husband's arms again. He's still waiting for you, Ann. Go on."

Fingers trembling, Ann pressed the sharp blade against the skin of her wrist and . . .

"You BITCH!" howled a new voice and Vanessa screamed as the back of Daneatra's hand cracked across her face with enough force to send her reeling. A kick to the pirate woman's midsection made her grunt and fall down, clutching her ribs. 

Daneatra's ire melted into concern and horror as she snatched the knife away from Ann and looked at it, transfixed, unbelieving anyone would be so heartless to do this to a grieving and sensitive young woman. As quickly as the sorrow had shown on Daneatra's face, it was now masked with fury. In the next second, the gypsy had pinned Vanessa flat against the ground with the tip of the knife pressed against her throat. 

"Give me one reason why I should not slit your throat," Daneatra hissed dangerously.

Vanessa replied by bringing her knee into Daneatra's ribs and rolling the gypsy off her. A sharp pain echoed in her side and an unseen force kept her from getting up to do any more damage to Daneatra. Thus, Vanessa was unable to dodge as another fist blacked her eye, then drew back and bloodied her lip. Quite stunned, Vanessa laid in a heap on the ground, simply waiting for the beating to continue and cursing Arizael mightily.

"I will not kill you Vanessa, only because my son has seen enough bloodshed and so has Ann. Neither of them needs to see me brought below your level. _If_ such a thing is possible. But if ever you so much as _touch _one of my friends again - or god help me, touch my _son_ -- you will _wish_ I had killed you this instant!" Quickly, Daneatra turned her back on Vanessa and left the galley, with an arm around Ann's shoulders and Billy's hand clasped in her long fingers. Having Vanessa see her break down in tears was the last thing the gypsy wanted to do.

"Billy?" she whispered hoarsely as they walked. 

"You allright, Mom?" his voice wavered back. 

"Yes."

"I hope you don't mind me saying so, but you were _fantastic_. I wish _I_ could've--"

"Billy. No. Vanessa is our enemy. She wishes us nothing but harm. Keep away from her and don't play any of your jokes on this woman."

"But--!"

"I mean it!" Daneatra raised her voice, cutting him off effectively. "I want you to consider her _ma'rime_. That's how far I want you to stay away from her. As if to even breathe the same _air_ would make you unclean. _Hai shala_?" she whispered to him sternly.

The boy only had to look at her face for a moment before nodding. "Okay. I promise. But I still wish I could've--"

"Hush," the gypsy said, kissing him on the forehead. "No more talk of this. Ann?"

"I'm sorry," the young woman spoke, stumbling all over her words. "I'm so sorry, Daneatra. I . . . she . . . I was so confused and it seemed like I was doing the right thing . . . " Both her voice and body trembled. Daneatra held her close, stroking her hair.

"Ann, you have nothing to apologize for. Please, don't blame yourself for this."

"I should never have listened to her . . . but . . . I . . . it seemed as if her words were true . . ." Ann sobbed weakly. 

"Shhh, of course it did. She's a charmer, how else do you think she got into the Captain's bed?" Daneatra asked, wryly. Ann giggled a bit and wiped at her eyes. 

"Huh?" Billy asked, not getting it and desperately curious for further information. 

Daneatra flushed. "Go now. Find something to do that doesn't make people threaten your life. And if you see Vanessa anywhere _near_ you, come to me immediately and I will rip her head off."

"M'kay," the boy replied and let himself be shooed off while his mother continued to soothe Ann's tears. 

* * *

_Stupid old Vanessa_, he thought angrily to himself. _Why does she have to be such a hag to Ann? If I hadn't promised Mom I wouldn't play pranks on her . . ._

A clang of metal on metal made Billy nearly jump out of his skin. _That wasn't her was it? _The clang echoed again and roused Billy's curiosity. This he _had_ to investigate, especially when he heard deep singing drifting from the source of the noise. It didn't sound like it belonged to any of the pirates he'd become 'acquainted' with due to his usual antics. 

But it wasn't the prospect of a new victim that got Billy's attention. It was the sound of metal being hammered; the rhythm beating in time with his own heart as well as the man's voice.

_My boat's by the tower, and my bark's on the bay,  
and both must be gone at the dawn of the day.  
The moon's in her shroud, and to light thee afar  
On the deck of the daring's a love lighted star._

_So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee,  
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be,  
So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee,  
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be . . ._

Billy smiled, following the sound until only a half-opened door stood between him and the music within. He pressed his ear to the door and listened, trying to figure out what the man was doing without stopping his singing. It was better singing than he'd heard for a while - save of course for his mother's. Though the voice was certainly no nightingale's, it was still on key, and the words were interesting to listen to. Not nearly as interesting as the ones his mother covered his ears for, but pleasant nonetheless. And soothing to the boy's nerves, which were more frayed than he'd like to admit by the fight between Vanessa and his mother. 

The boy could smell fire and realized that beyond the door must be a hearth of some sort. The thought of a hearth made him feel drowsy and he would have gone back to Daneatra and fallen asleep on the bed if it wasn't for the fact that he was aching keenly to know what lay behind the door. The man's voice had not stopped singing, save for pausing briefly to perhaps take a drink of water or something, and now continued gaily.

_A hundred shall serve - the best of the brave,  
And the chief of a thousand shall kneel as thy slave,  
And thou shalt reign queen, and thy empire shall last  
Till the black flag by inches, is torn from the mast---_

"GOTCHA!!!" the voice roared in triumph, a split second after the song was completed. Jukes was wondering what on earth it was the man had 'got' until he felt the door swing open. Too late, he realized he had been leaning his entire weight against the door, lulled into a half-awake state by both warmth and the song. Quite an interesting wake-up call it was, crashing face-first to the floor.

"What you do you think you're at, snoopin' around here?!" the man yelled. Billy looked up at the pirate, who was easily the hugest man he'd ever seen, and gulped. "_Well?!_" the pirate demanded, glaring. 

"I heard you singing, sir. And clanging."

"Ya heard me singin' and clangin'?" repeated Bartholomew, raising an eyebrow. Billy nodded then flinched as the man began yelling all over again. "What bloody sort of excuse is _that_?! I don't care if ya heard me gargling saltwater and playin' a tambourine! You stay away from this area and if I catch ye stickin' yer nose where it don't belong again, _I'll chisel it off with an ice pick!!! Do you understand me?!_"

"Aye, I understand," Billy answered, not looking nearly as terrified as Bartholomew would have preferred. "What may I call you, sir?"

"Bartholomew," he grunted, surprising the boy. Then, surprising even himself, "And you?"

"Billy Jukes."

"Yeah . . . well . . ." Bartholomew trailed off, and the two stood there in awkward silence. Staring at each other. Bartholomew started to fidget. "Is there any reason yer standin' there starin' at me like a hungry cat, or are ye gonna shove off now like a good lad and let me do my work?" he asked crossly.

"I'd like to watch you, if you don't mind."

Bartholomew grinned, despite himself. "Have an interest in the trade o' smithin' aye?"

Billy smiled in delight. "That _is_ what you're doing! I thought it sounded familiar. Gypsy men did it all the time at our camp back home. Mom even said Father did it, but gave it up for the sailor's life." The boy's face fell and he looked down. "That's how we lost him."

"Ahhh, lost me own father too," Barth sympathized, then shook his head and groaned. What was he doing? Aye, he'd lost his father. So had One-Eyed Pete. And Gimpy-Legged Joe. So _what?_ He didn't want to have a pity party now; there was work to be done!

"Come on, boy, you wanna watch, then you'll help too. You can start by shoveling more coal into the furnace and pumping the bellows. Don't you grin at me _now_! It's hard work and come tomorrow, you'll most likely be avoidin' this section like all the other lads who were interested before you."

ButJukes came the next day as well, much to Bartholomew's surprise, and worked with little to no complaint. Bartholomew tested him, giving him odd jobs that would be hard labor. Day after day, the boy returned, winning Bartholomew's respect until he was made the blacksmith's honorary apprentice. Once his jobs became more interesting than shoveling coal and polishing finished weapons, Jukes fell in love almost immediately with the trade. And upon seeing his obvious skill with metal, the usually over-critical Bartholomew found himself admitting the boy was a natural.

Aside from smithing, Jakob taught the boy how to use a cannon, tie sailor knots, balance on the riggings, and mend storm-ripped canvas. He also invited the boy to help him assemble a few of his inventions in order to test their designs. Thrilled, Billy worked something out with Bartholomew to get the inventor scraps of metal he needed for a project. Barth agreed since he believed it would be good practice for him, but only on the condition that Billy hammered the metal out himself. A busy trio they made; both the boy and Jakob working together, with Barth lending a hand whenever an invention called for something too complicated for his rather young apprentice. 

"Don't get used to it," he growled the first time. "I'm just curious as to what the bloody thing would do. Supposing it works, that is, and doesn't take off me bloody head!"

"It's not gonna take off your head. It's not even sharp," Billy assured him. Jakob held up an innocent-looking piece of the invention to back him up. 

"Could explode and put out me eye then. Doesn't matter. Shaddap and work on it, boy. Chattering so will make your tongue fall out and the forge get cold."

"Whatever you say, Bartholomew," the boy replied. He looked over at Jakob then and for the length of an hour, both had to struggle valiantly to keep straight faces. 

* * *

". . . please . . . no, no! NO!"

Daneatra reached over and touched her son's trembling shoulder as the boy whimpered, calling out for her in his sleep. "Billy," she whispered, shaking him awake softly. He gasped and awoke with a start, only to find himself enveloped in his mother's arms. 

"She was . . . she was going to kill . . ." he trailed off weakly. 

"It's all right now, it's no more. Calm your heart," Daneatra soothed him, holding him closer. She knew well who it was Billy dreamed about, as this was certainly not the first nighmare he'd had. _Vanessa . . . even in dreams she wishes us harm. By the gods, why won't she just die of some disease and leave us be?_

Vanessa had only gotten worse since the incident with Ann in the galley. She never attacked them; something seemed to prevent her from physically harming either Daneatra or her son, although the desire to do so was by no means obscure. Whether it was insulting Daneatra, making threats on the welfare of both her and her son, or anything else she could possibly do to make the gypsy miserable, Vanessa never tired. Daneatra took the abuse and dished it out likewise when she had to get the pirate witch out of her face, yet she quickly getting weary of this game of 'cat and mouse'.

And speaking of cats . . . a calico she had never seen before had taken to following her around lately. Whenever Vanessa wasn't there, the cat took her place – scrutinizing Daneatra with its unblinking amber-orange eyes. The gypsy entertained the theory that it was Vanessa's familiar, ordered to 'keep an eye' on her in the guise of a feline. It was unnerving, but she'd come to prefer its presence to Vanessa's.

Daneatra looked down to find Billy asleep again, snuggled next to her. She smiled fondly, and laid him back down under the covers. _If only I could do the same_, she thought wryly, now more awake than asleep. Perhaps thinking about the distasteful woman had made her alert; in any case she was not going to get any rest until all thoughts on Vanessa were out of her head. The gypsy got up and made her way in the darkness toward the ladder leading up to the main deck. 

Perhaps the stars would clear her mind tonight. 

* * *

He was going to go mad unless he had her. He _must_ have her . . . and at her assent. No other way would be enough; she _had _to love him back. 

Flint rubbed his aching temples, feeling another headache. It was as if something or someone was entering his mind, trying to make him doubt his love; tying to encourage him to turn away from a hopeless quest. He had not listened to it before, nor would he now. He wanted her, and he was going to give anything he owned to get her. 

_Do you hear me?_ He demanded, the voice crying out in protest at these thoughts. _She is mine. She will be mine and she will love me. If she does not, I will go mad. If I am not already . . . _

Flint gazed up at the stars from the main deck, making a fervent wish - while Vanessa watched from her place in the shadows, eyes brimming with bitter tears.

* * *

When she emerged from the lower decks, Flint at first doubted what he saw. Was it a ghost? A wraith? Had his mind suddenly concocted hallucinations out of his longing for her? 

No, she was no dream. Moonlight shone _through_ spirits; it did not alight in their hair or caress their soft skin as it was the gypsy woman's. 

Flint could scarcely believe that the heavens had been so kind and heard his plea for both love and sanity. For here Daneatra was, alone, with no brigand to watch his clumsy attempts to woo her -- oh, how he felt like a boy: clumsy, inexperienced and tripping over his own tongue at the mere sight of her -- nor Vanessa to show her wrath at his passion toward a woman fairer than she with no need of jewels to brighten her glow. 

His lust at a new high, Flint put one foot forward, and found himself drawing near the gypsy. Why he used stealth, he did not know. Nor did he realize he _was_ using it, until when he reached out to place his hand on her gleaming shoulder--

Daneatra whipped around, and found herself staring into Flint's eyes. 

"Pardon me, my lady," the Captain said, diplomatically. "Did I startle you?"

"You caught me unawares," she answered simply. "I heard nothing behind me. It is a dangerous trick if you can sneak up on me." 

"I meant to play no trick on you, m'lady. Simply to . . . spend time with you."

Daneatra paled, not liking the tone of the man's voice, nor the look in his eyes. She did not know this Captain, and while his manner appeared smooth, he wore the look of a man intending to get what he wanted from her. Be it gentle or rough. "I'd prefer to spend time alone. There is much on my mind."

"Concerning?" Flint invited.

"Mainly, concerning your lover, Vanessa Devane. If you pardon my saying so, she is starting to get on my nerves. And _that's _only putting it mildly."

Flint nodded silently. He was very well aware of the reasons why Vanessa treated Daneatra like dirt on her feet. He'd done nothing to stop it for the sole reason that it would only make things worse between the two women. And the fact that it was amusing and downright exhilarating to watch a woman finally get the upper hand on Vanessa. 

"I know how she can be," he said, letting his eyes wander over her body. Daneatra looked at him then, and was faintly disturbed to see the way he was looking at her. "If you wish, I will punish her."

Daneatra stared at him for a moment, then, "Punish her? How so?"

"_We_ can punish her. Daneatra . . . " Flint's face was a mask of pure passion, and his mouth stopped moving; mind striving to find the best combination of words to speak his emotions. 

In that moment of conflict, Daneatra knew what he was going to ask her. Her heart nearly stopped beating. She bit her lip, hoping against hope that Flint was drunk and that the whole matter would be forgotten in the morning. But she knew he was sober within the next ten seconds . . . 

His lips didn't taste like alchohol when they all but crushed hers in a lustful kiss. Daneatra jerked back violently from him and staggered away. 

They stood there for a shattered moment, too caught up in what had just happened to notice or hear strangled sobbing and the sound of rapid footsteps fading away further into the darkness. 

"Captain," Daneatra finally said, wiping her lips, and trying to keep her fury in check. Before she ay more, Flint was already talking.

"Yes, it was out of place, Daneatra, but there were no words to tell you how I felt. I am a man of action, not a poet. I love you. I want you to be mine. I will worship you like a goddess--"

"_Vanessa_ is your goddess. Do you care nothing for her now?"

"Her time of reign over my heart is over. You have converted me, Daneatra," Flint whispered, taking Daneatra's hands and placing them to his heart. "Have no doubt of my faithfulness to you."

Daneatra snatched her hands away. "Oh, I have no doubt whatsoever," she shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your willingness to drop Vanessa like a rock for another pretty face makes you _quite_ the man of faith."

"I can assure you, that will not happen with you. I have played games, I have broken hearts, I have lied. And through it all, I have never felt anything. But now . . . you make my heart pound everytime I catch a glimpse of you. I love you. I want you. Be mine, and you will have anything you could ever desire. We'll rule the seven seas--"

"First of all," Daneatra said, cutting his romantic monologue right in half, "I'm not interested in the life of piracy. I'm here because you captured my ship and spared my life. Which was nice, thank you. Second, in case you haven't noticed, I have a son. I don't necessarily _want_ this kind of life for him. Thirdly --"

"I will have the helmsman drop him off in Port Royal. The boy is gifted in the art of metal-shaping, is he not? He will make an excellent apprentice." 

"_What is wrong with you?!_ He's my son, you bastard, not luggage!"

"There is no need for hostility," Flint said smoothly, yet with more than a hint of anger. 

"I apologize for offending you, _sir_," Daneatra said, trying to keep her own temper in check, "But you have no place telling me what port I can leave my son at so you and I can live happily ever after. In any case, it doesn't matter. I am a married woman, Flint."

The Captain stared at her for a moment in confusion. "You are married to a dead man, Daneatra. Do you not feel you can move on?"

The gypsy stiffened, tears coming to her eyes. That question had hurt _alot._ She bit her lip to keep her tongue still, and turned her back on Flint. "No, I can't. I do not, nor can I _ever_, love you. Good night." 

As he watched her leave, Flint felt the world crash down around him. 

* * *

Arizael looked on at the sobbing heap that was Vanessa, laying prone before Her. It was all She could do not to smile. Finally, the moment She'd been waiting for was near. Finally, She would have what She sought after. 

"Vanessa," she whispered, her tone oozing so much sympathy it rang as false as a broken bell. She was not used to comforting mortals, or even pretending to. "What is wrong? What happened?"

"You must know," wailed the pirate witch. "You watched everything, didn't you? You saw his lust for that . . . that . . ." Vanessa's wailing cut off her words. As she slumped her face to the ground once more, Arizael's eye twitched in annoyance. 

"Now is not the time to feel sorry for yourself," She hissed. "Now is the time for vengeance. For Daneatra to fall. Three years have passed tonight, Vanessa. I see you are surprised, the way you stare at me so. Have you not been keeping track? Tomorrow is the first day of Daneatra's journey to hell at our hands."

"But the tithe--" Vanessa started. "It may not be ready--"

"Forget the tithe for now," Arizael said, smiling. "_This_ is more important."

Vanessa's face lit up through her tears. "Yes. What are we going to do?"

"Think carefully, Vanessa. How do you hurt a mother?"

The pirate witch grinned slowly, as Arizael's plan unfolded itself. 

"Why . . . you take away her _child_."

* * *

"What are you workin' on so hard tha' ye haf to be skippin' lunch?" Bartholomew demanded, looking over Billy's shoulder. 

"Just something Jakob needed. It's allright, I'm not hungry just yet." 

"'Not hungry just yet'? Listen, your mother will have my guts for garters if I let you miss a meal. Off to the kitchen with ye. You can work on that later."

"A few more minutes, I'm almost done!" Jukes protested.

The blacksmith sighed and rubbed the sweat off his bald head. "Allright, you win. If you ain't up in the galley in ten, I'll come back and drag you by th' ear."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Good lad." Bartholomew threw his leather apron over the chair and walked out, shutting the door behind him. 

Billy continued to pound the dents out of the metal, not able to hear footsteps approaching above the clanging. A soft cough next to his ear startled him. "OW!" he yelped, accidentally burning himself on the forge's hot surface. The boy sucked ruefully on his stinging fingertips and turned around to see who was there. His young face tensed in apprehension and fear. 

"Oh . . . it's _you_ . . . "

* * *

Daneatra scrubbed at the pots vigorously, unable to get the caked grease off without a certain amount of extertion. "Sheesh," she griped, letting her sore arms rest for a moment. 

"Mreowww!" wailed something behind her. Daneatra looked over her shoulder to see the calico cat sitting on the floor, regarding her with those cold amber eyes. 

"You're back again? What do you want?" The gypsy put down the scrub brush and walked toward the cat to shoo it off. Instead of retreating, it suddenly streaked to her. Daneatra cried out as its claws ripped into her wrist as she reached out to keep it at bay. It bit her ankle as well, before she kicked it away. Finally, with a last silent glare, the cat slunk out of the room. Daneatra rubbed her sore wrist and looked down at the blood streaming down her ankle. 

"Crazy beast . . . it _must _be Vanessa's. She attacks without reason too."

Grumbling to herself, Daneatra put her ankle on a chair, and began to clean the blood off with a damp washcloth, feeling slightly dizzy for some inexplicable reason. A soft gasp let her know Ann had returned to see her injury. 

"What happened? Did you break a glass?"

"No. That blasted cat I told you about . . . it attacked me."

"What's all this about a blasted cat, now?" asked a man's voice. Daneatra smiled at the blacksmith as he moved to look at her ankle. "The little vermin bit ya good! May wanna put some brandy on it. To get rid of the dirt. Cat's claws can go anywhere an ye don't want that infectin' the wound."

"Li' ha'eer! Brandy? That stings like the devil's whip! It's just a scratch. Soap and water will do fine. Look, it's not bleeding anymore."

"Ach, the pain only let's ya know the stuff's doin' its job. But suit yerself, lass. You're right, it don't look as bad as it did a few moments ago. Oy--" Bartholomew started, seeing Daneatra walk unsteadily back to the sink. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, whatever do you--"

Ann shrieked as Daneatra suddenly crumpled to the floor. Barth, having gotten out of his seat the moment he saw Daneatra's knees buckle, was at her side in an instant. "Daneatra? Avast, wake up! This is no good omen . . ." The last part was directed to Ann, who was staring at Daneatra's wrist and ankle with growing horror. 

"What is it?" Barth asked, looking himself. His breath caught in his throat as he saw his answer. 

The blood on Daneatra's skin was no longer crimson. 

It was black as ink. 

* * *

"What do you want, Ma'dam?" Billy asked carefully. Vanessa gave him a sweet smile. 

"Merely to ask a favor. I hear you are an excellent craftsman?"

_And why would you care?_ Billy wanted to retort, but kept his mouth closed. "Well," he started, trying to remember to be polite, "Is there a reason you're asking, Ma'dam?" 

"Ooh, cutting right to the chase, are we?" Vanessa beamed at him and Jukes could see no trace of malice in her face, although he knew it was there. He shifted, uncomfortable, and backed away toward the forge. "Careful now!" she said, putting her arm around him suddenly and spiriting him away from the glowing furnace. "You don't want to be burned now, do you?"

As hard as he tried not to seem rude, Billy was afraid he pushed her hand away a bit hastily. Vanessa, thankfully, did not seem offended in the least. Before another word was spoken, the door swung open, allowing Flint and a few other pirates walk in. "There he is," Vanessa said, pointing straight at Billy. "_He's_ the one."

"I'm the one who what?" Jukes asked, confused. 

"Him? That's Daneatra's son," Flint said, unhappily. He turned to Vanessa. "I see now. You were planning this against her, weren't you?"

"Husband, don't be ridiculous. My only quarrel is with the woman, not the boy. He has my necklace. I know a liar when I meet one."

"What?! What are you talking about?" the boy asked, confused and most of all, scared. He had an inkling to where this was going, and didn't like it one bit.

"Stop lying, and tell me where you've hidden it!" snapped Vanessa. "That necklace was very expensive. I should never have trusted it to be safe with _gypsies_ on board."

Billy found her hypocrisy astounding. "You're one to talk! You probably stole that necklace from someone _else_." Quick as lightning, Billy was on the floor, head ringing and cheek burning from the force of the slap Vanessa had given him. 

"Check him," was all he heard from the woman before he felt rough hands searching him through his clothes. Billy gasped as he felt a lump of something cold and metal dragging against his skin as it was pulled from his vest pocket. He looked up to see Vanessa proudly holding up the necklace she had somehow planted on him. 'Somehow' as in by either incredible skill or magic. Jukes had Daneatra for a teacher as well as a mother; he had been trained to know immediately when someone was trying to slip any fingers into his pockets. So how had she . . .?

Vanessa must have seen some cofusion on his face, for she laughed at him cruelly. "Didn't think anyone would find it?"

Billy glared, sitting up. "I did _not_ steal that necklace."

"The proof is here in my hand. Lying isn't going to improve matters. You're in enough trouble as it is."

Jukes turned pleading eyes to Flint. "I didn't do it sir! I swear! You know I can work with metal -- if I wanted a necklace to give or sell, I could make it myself! I have no _reason_ to steal such things!" 

The Captain looked at him, seeming to hear his words and see the truth in them. Feeling a twinge of hope, Jukes continued. "She hates my mother, _that's_ why she's trying to get me in trouble!"

Flint's eyes snapped upwards and he looked long and hard at Vanessa. Billy all but sighed in relief; it was over and Flint had seen right through Vanessa's game. 

But as soon as the Captain opened his mouth, all color suddenly drained from his face. Jukes watched on in consternation as the man convulsed, blue spider veins showing more visibily through his rapidly paling skin. Gasping, Flint struggled to fight a losing battle, before his eyes darkened completely . . . and focused on Jukes. 

The boy cried out in horror and protest as Flint seized his arm in a vise-like grip and dragged him out of the make-shift smithery. "Thieves and tramps," Flint hissed, "Are punished without mercy aboard my ship. Especially those who steal from the Captain himself." 

"But I didn't--"! Jukes yelled, drawing a few stares as he was forcefully led through the passages below decks. 

"You lie again, and you will regret it sorely."

Billy bit back a whimper and looked back at the pirates who had started to follow them on their way to the main deck. His heart leaped when he saw Jakob's face; the man trying to brush and squeeze his way past the crowd of onlookers. Billy lost sight of him as he was marched up the ladder and toward the main mast. 

It was then that Flint uttered to one of his guards the most frightful words Jukes had ever heard in his life . . .

"Fetch the whip . . ."

* * *

Jakob moaned as he realized what Billy's punishment was to be. He turned away, unable to watch as his young friend was bared to the waist. Nor the sight of Vanessa looking on smugly as they tied him to the mast, the boy still pleading for Flint to believe him. 

He had't heard the whole story of why the boy was being flogged, but he - among others assembled on the deck - knew Vanessa was behind it and that Billy hadn't done a thing to deserve it. Flint, however, did not appear to be capable of listening to reason. 

"Your pardon, Captain," said the first-mate, holding the whip he had been sent to fetch. "But if he's innocent as he claims -- "

"I assure you, he is a liar and a thief. Turn your pity elsewhere. Or are you so determined to protect this _scum_ that you will bare your back and take the flogging for him?" Flint raised an eyebrow and the cowed first-mate scuttled back, giving the Captain a wide berth. 

Flint approached the trembling boy, putting the cord of the whip gently against his skin and stroking down along the spine. The gesture made Jukes shudder and cling to the mast, whimpering for forgiveness. "It doesn't hurt _now_, does it?" Flint asked cruelly. "In fact, it's rather cold against your skin. Is that why you're shivering so? Well, let me remedy that."

Jakob wished he had deaf ears for the screams that followed. "God damn . . ." he cursed softly, and headed toward the ladder to fetch Daneatra. 

* * *

"She's dreamin a bad sort . . ." murmured Bartholomew, watching Daneatra's troubled face while she laid on the bed. Ann applied a cool cloth to the women's forehead, even though she knew the gypsy's ailment came not from a fever.

Not from any _natural_ sort of fever. 

Jakob's arrival was announced with a bang as the door was flung open. "Barth, Ann!" he gasped. "Flint has gone mad!"

"What?!" barked the smith. "What's goin' on?" 

"Billy's in trouble. I have to warn -- what's wrong with Daneatra?!" Jakob cried in dismay, seeing the unconscious woman. 

"There ain't nothin in the world we can do for her," Barth moaned, shaking his head. "And now Billy -- what's happening to him?"

A shriek of rage and anguish issued out of Daneatra's throat before Jakob could answer, sending chills up every spine. "No! Leave him be! You're going to _kill _him!" Badly shaken, Ann rushed to her side, trying to wake her out of what was apparently a nightmare. "Please!" Daneatra sobbed. "Stop whipping him! He's done nothing!" 

Jakob backed away, eyes wide. "There's witchcraft at work here--" he muttered. 

"Matters not _what's_ at work," Barth interrupted him. "Mothers always know when their children are in danger, be it witchcraft or no. He's . . . flogging the lad?" Jakob nodded solemnly, eyes still transfixed worriedly on Daneatra's thrashing form. 

"How many?" the smith asked grimly. 

"I do not know. He's just letting the whip fly without mercy. I don't know what Billy did -- I don't _care_ what he did. Nobody deserves a beating like that. We have to stop him. He's gone insane!"

"Aye. Ann, stay here!" Barth commanded her. 

"Be careful!" she called after them as they left. Feeling her knees go weak, she sank into the chair by Daneatra's side, holding her friend's hand as the gypsy continued her feverish nightmare with no sign of ever waking. 

"God be with you, Daneatra. And you too, Billy," Ann whispered brokenly. Not knowing what else to do, she closed her eyes and began to pray. 

* * *

Daneatra felt like dying each time the whip passed through her own body to hit her son's bloodied back. His screams for mercy shattered her heart and brought fresh sobs just when she thought she could cry no more. 

Behind her, she suddenly heard laughter. Harsh laughter. Familiar laughter. 

_"Vanessssa,_" she hissed, the hatred dripping from her voice frightened her, but it was a hatred she could not let go of. Billy's body convulsed from the pain as another lash bit across his already torn back. Daneatra despaired, knowing her efforts at shielding him were in vain. But she _could_ hurt the one who had undoubtedly caused this. Vanessa smirked and Daneatra could feel her blood grow hot with fury. 

She turned from Billy and with a feral scream of rage, launched herself at Vanessa, smiling with satisfaction as her nails ripped gashes across Vanessa's pretty face. The woman crumpled to the ground, screaming in fear like a pig going to slaughter. Wide eyes looked up at Daneatra, full of terror and pleading forgiveness. It felt _good_ . . . so _good_ to have this woman at her mercy. 

Billy screamed again, his wail piercing her heart; but not the anger that rested within its core.

Daneatra's very _being _burned with the desire for vengeance as Vanessa smiled through her fear, taking pleasure in his pain. She was sitll smiling, even as Daneatra grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her white throat. "You die," she whispered hoarsely, drawing a dagger. 

The gypsy brought the dagger down upon Vanessa's bared throat just as the vision ended in a blur of gray and purple mist. 

Arizael smiled broadly. _She's mine . . ._

* * *

"Please, please . . ." Billy was choking, sobbing. The pain in his body was making it hard to breathe. Another lash tore fire across his back and this time he lacked strength to even scream. "Vanessa . . ." he beseeched through gritted teeth, desperate to end the agonizing punishment, "Please tell him the truth . . ."

Lady Devane smirked coldly, and raised a hand to Flint, telling him to pause as she made her way to Billy's trembling body. "Poor little one," she soothed, stroking his hair. "In so much pain. And where is your mother to protect you?"

"I . . ."

"Not here? Not even on deck? Perhaps she is too embarrassed at your thievery to face me."

"I didn't steal from you and you know it!" Billy rasped. 

"You certainly don't know when to quit lying, do you?"

"I'm _not_--"

"Beg me for mercy. Plead your guilt. It's all I ask of you. How can I forgive you if you continue to lie? Simply tell the truth and all will be pardoned."

Billy was silent for a moment, then shook his head. "_Sheka!_ You're lying. You won't forgive me."

Vanessa sneered. "Suit yourself," she said, and stepped out of the way. "Your funeral. Cut him up," she told Flint. 

Billy swallowed and dug his nails into the mast as the whip howled through the air.

* * *

Daneatra blinked, finding herself on her knees with the dagger embedded in ground. Grey and purple mist swirled around her, confusing her. Where was Vanessa? Billy? What was going on?

_Do not be afraid_, spoke a voice. _Now is not the time for fear._

"Who's there?!" the gypsy demanded, weapon at the ready. 

_Your son is in danger._

"Where am I? Let me out of this!"

_But if you let me help you . . . we can save him. Together_, the voice continued. 

"I do not know who you are, but if my son is in danger, then let me out!" Daneatra pleaded. No answer came back to her. She looked all around and could see only mist. "Who are you? Show yourself to me!"

"I am here," the voice spoke from behind her. Daneatra whirled around to face a creature so twisted, misshapen, and evil that she felt her heart freeze. 

"What are you?" she cried backing away.

"The only one who can help your son. Even if you manage to save him now, he will die from his wounds. Vanessa is hurting him. And she is using me to do it."

"What?!" Daneatra yelled in rage. "You!?"

Arizael raised Her hands. "Yes. I am to all appearance nothing but a monster. I am a Goddess of Rage, Vengeance, Bloodshed. Though many have mistakenly called me Justice. Long ago, Vanessa brought me back from the realm of the Forgotten. She worshipped me, but only to give me power enough to serve herself. For that, she must pay. You are my tool of vengeance, just as I am yours. You now belong to me."

"I belong to no-one."

"Daneatra. You were mine the moment you turned from your son to kill Vanessa. I know what's in your heart. You wish to kill the one who harmed your son. Wouldn't any mother?"

"No," gasped Daneatra, retreating from Arizael. "It's not true . . . all I want is to protect Billy . . ."

"Your words are noble, but I can see what lies in the depth of your soul. Your desire to protect him is now mingled with your desire for Vengeance. Or would you prefer to call it Justice instead?" 

"NO!" she screamed and ran from the deity. Arizael closed Her eyes as She felt Daneatra trying to escape the mists and return to her consciousness. 

"I will let her go. For now. And she will see the turth."

* * *

Ann cried out in joy as Daneatra opened her eyes. "Are you allright, Daneatra?"

Without answering her, the gypsy got to her feet, clutching at Ann until she had steadied herself. "I have to save him," she growled, getting her bearings. 

"Bartholomew and Jakob just ran up to -- Daneatra, please!" Ann cried as the gypsy grabbed her sword from against the wall and ran out the door. "Daneatra!"

* * *

Bartholomew and Jakob cleared the ladder and shoved their way through the assembled mass above decks to get to Flint. "Hoy now, move it!" the burly smith shouted, trying to wrestle past two of Flint's bodyguards. A marlinspike pointed at his throat, forcing him back. 

"Think not on it!" the bodyguard snapped. 

"What are you at?! Can't you see Flint's insane?" Jakob demanded, also being held back. "He'll kill the boy!"

"You really think you'd stand a chance? He'd split ye dead in a heartbeat. Tis for yer own good that you stay back."

Jakob opened his mouth to protest. He never got a chance to begin his sentence before a blur passed him, sword-metal gleaming. 

"Halt--" the bodyguard started to shout and was seconds after lying on the ground, clutching a bleeding shoulder. Jakob and Barth looked from the fallen guard to Daneatra who now stood with her arms spread before Billy's limp body. 

"Touch him again," she snarled, "And I'll--" Daneatra broke off with a gasp of pain and dropped the sword with a clatter as the whip snapped forward, ripping through the bodice of her dress and snapping off some of the worn material. A thin red weal rose across her breasts and collarbone, drops of blood appearing. 

Stiffly, she moved her head to look back at Flint who now let the whip rest on the ground. Blood trails streaked the deck between him and the mast, and it was all Daneatra could do not to turn around to see the damage he had done to her boy. She knew she would lose all resolve and break down if she did. 

Flint was staring at her now, more noticeably at the area where material had been torn away. Daneatra blanched, realizing now why Flint had not seen through whatever accusation Vanessa had pinned on her son to deserve such a punishment. 

He was angry with her dismissal of him. 

If she gave herself to him, he would let Billy go. Tentatively, she stepped forward. "If you want me, take me. As long as you let my son go. Promise me, and I will give you what you desire." 

Though she trembled with disgust, Daneatra took Flint's hand in her own and pressed it against her lips. Flint's other hand dropped the whip and carressed her hair, seemingly coming to his senses. A tear streaked down her face. How could he? How could _she_? To give in like this was like commiting suicide; she knew she'd die inside when Flint claimed her as his own. But if it saved her son . . .

A whimpering sob made her turn just in time to see the enraged Vanessa gripping Billy's hair and pulling his head back to expose his throat. Daneatra felt a stab of terror as the witch raised the dagger above her helpless son. 

"NOOO!" she screamed, throwing herself at Vanessa. The two of them tumbled to the ground, kicking, biting and scratching. Daneatra cried out in pain as Vanessa finally kicked her off and swung the dagger wildly, slashing it across the gypsy's arm. The woman scrambled backwards and Vanessa advanced, raising the bloodied weapon high.

"First you," she hissed, face hideously alight with triumph, "Then the boy." 

Daneatra struggled to get up, but she was overcome with pain and a strange sort of fatigue. She could not move; able only to watch as Vanessa came closer, readying the killing blow. 

_Let me help you_, whispered a soothing voice in her head. 

And suddenly, she found the strength to stand.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaugh!" Vanessa squawked, struggling to get out of the vise-like grip Daneatra had on her throat. Her feet kicked aimlessly to find ground though it was two feet below her. With a power she did not know she possessed, Daneatra hurled Vanessa into the railing. She would have loved to do more; her rage was fueling her even now to finish the pirate witch off. But Daneatra's thoughts were on Billy.

Swiftly, she ran to her son's side, undoing the rope bonds that held him upright. His body fell into her arms and she held him close, weeping at the damage done to him. 

Flint stood over the unconscious Vanessa and wordlessly picked her up. "Cap'n?" asked the first-mate, shuffling towards him. "What do we do with the gypsy?"

The pirate Captain placed Vanessa in the man's arms and turned to face Daneatra. "Put Vanessa in my chambers and tend to her wounds," he spoke hollowly. "Tell her that the tithe will be paid in full tonight. The gypsy is now mine. Place her in the brig until I come for her."

"Sir? I'm afraid I don't understand . . ." 

"Nobody asked you to understand. Do as I say."

"Y-yes, Cap'n." The first-mate turned to two more of Flint's guards. "Ye heard the man. Take the gypsy away."

Daneatra saw the guards coming toward her and turned her eyes to Bartholomew and Jakob, who had run to her side immediately. Knowing what they were about to do, she gently placed Billy in the great smith's arms. "Take care of him," she pleaded with her eyes, as two pairs of hands gripped her arms and began to drag her to the lower cells. 

Jakob cried out in protest and started to follow, but Batholomew placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "She's already asked for our help, lad," he said soflty. 

* * *

Vanessa bowed again before the statuette, murmuring the words that would bring Arizael forth in Her true shape. The first-mate had been confused, simple fool that he was, but she had gotten the message clear enough. It was time for her to repay the Goddess for Her kindness. A tithe of flesh and blood . . .

"Vanessa, you have served me well," purred Arizael's voice from the shadows, once summoned. The Goddess moved forward fluidly, smiling with false kindness. "Served me better than I could ever have hoped for."

"You are too kind, your Grace."

"And now you will serve me forever."

Vanessa blinked, keeping her face toward the ground. _What did She mean by that?_

"Where is my tithe, Vanessa?"

"The boy? I shall kill him at the stroke of midnight. Unless of course, you want him sooner--"

Arizael gave a sharp bark of laughter, startling the pirate witch. "You do not understand, do you? No, you never did. The tithe is you, Vanessa."

"What?!" shrieked the woman, looking up. Almost too late, she gasped, and threw an arm over her eyes to avoid looking at the Goddess's face. "The tithe of flesh and blood --" she began, confused.

"Your body, Vanessa. I have served you well, have I not?"

"Y-yes, but--!"

"Should it not be an honor that I would choose your body as my permanent host? Or did you think I would be content - I, a Goddess, -- to live in a wooden idol in the filfthy dredges of a ship full of brigands? You are my priestess Vanessa. Now you will be me. _If_, of course, you are willing."

Vanessa trembled, sweat dripping off her hair and face as pale as ash.

"You will wield great power . . ." Arizael promised, then made a small sound of dismissal. "But then again, you won't really get to enjoy it much . . .will you?"

"If your spirit is to rest in my body . . . then where shall my spirit --?"

A hollow mewl cut through the silence, and the calico rubbed its furry body against her side as it stepped forward. 

"Why Vanessa," chided Arizael. "You don't think I'd forget my minion, do you? I've created the perfect container for your soul. Every witch needs a familiar. So do Goddesses sometimes. I suppose you'll just have to make do."

Vanessa could not find her voice for a few painful moments, but when she did, she gathered it all in a shriek of denial. "I would sooner ROT! _Dletiarockt!!!_" she screamed, banishing the Goddess back into the wooden statuette. The cat hissed as she kicked it away from her and ran across the room to grab the statuette of the table and run up the stairs with it, forgetting in her haste the broken one and nearly twisting her ankle as she fell. Cursing and feeling blood trickle from her skinned knees, she continued to race up the steps until she was in the cabin. 

Gasping, she flung open the window and hurled the figure of Arizael out into the briny, watching it disappear with a splash. Vanessa's heart beat wildly, knowing that simply throwing the idol away would not ensure the Goddess would never return. She slammed the window shut and sank against the panel, sobbing with fear. 

Things were _definitely_ not working the way she had planned. All because of that stupid gypsy woman. Where was she now? More importantly, where was _Flint_? Oh yes. The trollop had given herself to him in exchange for Billy's life. Well, she'd just have to remedy that, eh? 

Vanessa charged out of the cabin, badly startling the first-mate who was keeping guard to tell Flint when she waked. "You! Are we near land?"

The first-mate shrugged, bewildered. "I do not know, ma'am. If we are, it is only past islands fit for marooned men and corpse-burials."

"Good," she smirked, "Because I have a coprse I need to bury very shortly." Vanessa snapped her fingers and a one of the bodyguards, his shoulder bandaged, stepped toward her. She took off a piece of jewelry and handed it to him. "If you and anyone else want more, take the gypsy's brat -- Billy Jukes -- and row him out to shore. Kill him or leave him to die, whatever you want. As long as he is gone and Daneatra suffers."

"But--" started the first-mate, "Flint never --"

"Flint ordered you to obey me as he would you, is that not correct?"

"A-aye, but what's the boy done?"

"He was born of his mother, that's what. Get rid of him! NOW! I myself will take care of the mother. Do you idiots understand or must I further explain myself?"

Shaken, the men nodded, and set off to find the boy. Muttering darkly, Vanessa grabbed a sword from the belt of a passed out drunkard and headed to the brig.

* * *

_Whatever are you going to do, Daneatra?_ the voice whispered in her head. _Your son is dying. And you are trapped. Flint will bed you as he did Vanessa. He will claim undying love for you and then, as you said yourself, drop you for the next beautiful flower that boards the Walrus. _

"Stop it," Daneatra pleaded softly, covering her ears though she knew the voice was coming from no outside source.

_Look what they did to your son_, the voice whispered. Daneatra could suddenly see the boy crying out in delerious fever, struggling as Bartholomew held him and Jakob treated the wounds. Ann was trying to calm him, stroking his hair and speaking Psalms under her breath. 

_"You have to warn her!" Billy was yelling, trying to break out of Bartholomew's grip. "Vanessa's going to kill her -- while she's in the brig -- please you have to help Mom!"_

_"He's gone mad," Ann sobbed, holding him to her. "The pain has made him so ill --"_

_"But what if it's true?" Jakob asked, anxiously. "Shouldn't we --"_

_"Vanessa is unconscious. Daneatra messed her up pretty badly - you saw her as well as I did. Billy needs our help now."_

Daneatra gasped as the doors suddenly banged opened, letting in guards, who immediately seized the boy, ripping him out of of the smith's arms as he was shoved back. 

_"What's all this?!" roared the smith, getting to his feet. Jakob crashed into a table and staggered to his feet with a bleeding nose, before racing to help Ann who'd been knocked over. "What's goin' on?" Barth yelled, reaching for Billy as they dragged him off. _

_"New orders. The boy is no longer part of this crew. It would not do to trouble yourselves further with him."_

_"What bloody bastard issued those orders?"_

_"Lady Devane herself."_

_Bartholomew turned pale. "By God . . ."_

"No," whispered Daneatrea. "NO, damn you!" she wailed launching herself at the bars and beating against them with her fists. "Stop this, please, _somebody! Help me save my son!_" Sobbing, she slumped to the ground in a heap, rocking back and forth slowly. 

_I can help you . . ._

"How?" Daneatra croaked through her tears. "I swear, I'll do anything . . . anything . . ."

_. . . good._

* * *

Vanessa cackled gratingly. Soon it would all be over. The sword scraped along the walls as she stalked down the stairs toward the cells. Yes. Soon.

"I'm coming for you, Daneatra," she called madly as she approached the dark brig that held the gypsy. The woman was curled on the floor, chest rising and falling with gentle sleep. 

"Daneatra," Vanessa called again. There was no change in the gypsy's breathing pattern. Vanessa tried again, louder this time. "I've killed your son, Daneatra! He died screaming your name! Alone . . . and in pain."

Still no answer. The gypsy couldn't be sleeping. She had heard. Perhaps she was lying there because she no longer cared what happened to her. Well, Vanessa would _make _her care. 

"Wake up, you insolent bitch!" the pirate witch howled, grabbing the keys that hung on a peg and jiggling them in the lock. She flung open the cell door, then looked down and gasped. Daneatra's body was no longer there. 

Cold breath gusted on the back of her neck. 

"_I've been waiting for you,_" whispered a voice in her ear. 

Vanessa barely had the breath for one scream, but she used it well.

* * *

By the time Bartholomew, Jakob and Ann reached the brigs, it was far too late. Blood pooled beneath their feet and the scent of it overwhelmed their senses. Ann put a hand over her mouth and fought to swallow her gorge. There was no sign of a corpse, but one thing was certain; someone had died here. 

"Let's go," Jakob said quietly and the trio headed to the upper decks, away from the stench of death. Where they ended up was not much better.

Every brigand on board was staring up on horror at the mast where there hung a decapitated body dressed in jewels, velvet, and lace. A thin retching scream from the Captain's cabin let everyone know where the head had just been found. 

"Holy hell . . . I ain't never been a religous man, but this is makin' me rethink it," muttered the smith, crossing himself. 

"What happened to Daneatra? And Billy?" wavered Jakob, supporting the trembling Ann.

"I don't know, matey. I don't know," Bartholomew replied. "But may God preserve their souls . . ." 

* * *

"Will he live?" Daneatra murmured, standing over her son. The men Vanessa had hired were more merciful than she had expected them to be. They had chosen to maroon him rather than simply slit his throat.

_Why do you ask me?_ Arizael countered back. _Why do you expect me to care? _The Goddess was cross. She thought she had Daneatra in the palm of her hand, but the gypsy's spirit was strong and not so easily detached from her body. Not , at least, until she took care of her son's well being. 

"Can't you heal him?"

_Why should I? You belong to me now. You no longer have the freedom --_

"It is still my body, Arizael. You have no worshipper left to sing you praises or quench your thirst for blood with human sacrifice. You are nothing more than a witch within my body, and nothing more than a forgotten Goddess in a statuette _without_ it."

_And you, Daneatra, are a woman who gave up her motherhood to seek vengeance._ Arizael shot back.

Daneatra closed her eyes. "If you do not heal him, I will fight with whatever strength I have left to thwart you. I will destroy this body before letting you have it completely. Then you will live the rest of your life trapped in a piece of wood, waiting for another self-serving bitch to call upon your powers."

_. . . very well, Daneatra. But know this. I am not a healing Goddess. Whatever power I channel through you will have consequences for the both of you. It is my power and your love for this child combined that will heal the wounds that were inflicted. He will no longer remember you, nor shall you remember him. That is the price you must pay if you want him to live. _

"But why?" Daneatra cried in protest. 

_I cannnot claim a body soiled by love. Vengeance has no room for it. _

"But he will wake alone . . . thinking no-one has ever loved him . . . he may even die of starvation on this island. . ."

_True. Perhaps you would rather I killed him? It would be more merciful. _

"No! I will not let you kill him!"

_Of course not. After all, a ship may pass and take him aboard. There is a chance, I won't deny it, however slim it is. The question is, will you forsake so much for it? _

Daneatra looked down at Billy's pain-filled face and shaking body. The whip had ravaged him badly, and he was caked with blood; he'd die from infection within two days if nothing was done. She couldn't take him back to the ship -- not with Arizael in her body. The Goddess was a loose cannon; there was no telling who'd she strike out at next. And after what she had done to Vanessa . . . she doubted her friends would want anything to do with her _or_ Billy.

_Have you made your choice, Daneatra? _

"I will do it," she whispered, stroking the raven hair out of Billy's eyes. She leaned over to kiss him on the forehead for quite possibly the last time. 

A flash of light temporarily blinded her as energy coursed through her body, entering the boy's form and sealing the blood-clotted wounds stretched across his back. 

Billy called out her name once, then fell silent into a peaceful sleep, all lines of pain vanishing from his face. Daneatra found herself smiling at the young lad, though she did not even know his name. She was tired . . . so tired. As Daneatra drifted into comforting darkness, Arizael picked herself up, brushing off the sand and grit from her flesh and clothing. 

She bent down again only once -- to pick up the statuette and the impatiently mewing calico -- before she began walking through the fog that swept in from the ocean. 

She had kept her end of the bargain. 

And now, it was _her_ turn to play. 

* * * 

The young castaway fed the fire with scraps of the driftwood he had managed to find. The fire consumed them all too quickly - its hunger reminding him of the own empty ache in his stomach. 

The boy was cold, tired, and starving. He'd woken up with nothing but the clothes on his back, a leather canteen of water, and a loaded musket. He'd used the musket for shooting down seagulls before the bullets ran out, and cooked them over a fire. Now all the water and ammunition was gone and he had resorted to eating strips of leather from the canteen to keep from starving. 

He didn't know where he had come from, why he was on this island, nor why he had whip marks all along his back. Maybe he deserved them. Maybe he did not. All he could remember were shadows, voices, and pain. If that was all his life had been, wouldn't it be _better_ if he died? Wearily, he spat out the piece of leather he'd been chewing and licked his dry lips. What he wouldn't _give_ for a cool drink of water to get the horrid dryness out of his mouth and throat. Suddenly feeling more tired than he ever had in his life, he gave up on the fire and laid down on the sand. He wanted this nightmare to be over. 

Billy closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of his arm. The meager warmth of the fire was lulling him into a merciful sleep that would keep his mind off the hunger and dehydration. He curled up to try and reserve the warmth the fire would give before it died; it would likely do so before he woke. _If_ _I wake at all_, he prayed bitterly. _Let it be because my life is about to be saved. I don't want to live another day like this. _

With those final thoughts, he drifted off. Mere seconds before seeing a galleon drifting closer and closer to the island, and twenty minutes shy of hearing longboats scraping against the sand as they were hauled up the shore by grunting and swearing men. By the time they had tied the boats off, the sun had set and the sputtering fire was the only thing casting light on the shore. 

"What's this we got here?" chuckled a muscular man dressed in a torn shirt as he approached the sleeping boy. Lightly, he kicked the body and got no response. "A corpse," he grunted. 

"I say, check his vital signs, Mason," sniffed a reedy man with a black moustache. 

"I'll check his vital signs allright, Starkey," chuckled Mason, picking up a piece of driftwood with a glowing end. With a mischievous smirk, Mason poked the boy with the live ember. The results were almost immediate. With a yelp, Billy was jolted awake and scrambled away from the fire, glaring at it and rubbing his stinging hip. Mason laughed loudly, making his heart leap in his throat. 

"He's a live one allright!" roared Mason, slapping his knee. His mirth was shared by others. Their footsteps crunched the sand as they came forward and Billy scrambled to his feet in alarm, grabbing the empty musket and aiming it at them, hoping to frighten them into leaving. 

"You keep away if you mean harm!" he croaked, sounding far less than threatening with his hoarse voice. He wished he hadn't stood up so suddenly, for now the world was spinning. What looked like one fire was turning into six and spots were coming to fill his vision. Billy's aim was certainly off now, trying to follow all three Alf Masons as they approached him. 

A hand easily wrested the gun away from him, and another planted itself on his chest, shoving him backwards into the sand. "Weak as a kitten," sneered Mason, then inspected the weapon which brought another scoff. "Keelhaul me, you really think you were gonna scare me off with an unloaded gun?" 

Billy just groaned and tried to sit up, feeling very lightheaded. "Leave off, Mason!" he heard someone shout. Immediately after, he felt arms gathering him up and then he was leaning against something warm and solid. "Picks on a kid and acts like he's bested the devil hisself," a voice with a Brooklyn accent muttered. A lantern sprang to life and Billy had to close his eyes at the sudden brightness. He felt something cool against his lips and nearly cried out with relief as he tasted water. 

"Slowly," the man told him, before the boy could try to gulp down the contents of the water canteen. "Or ye'll get a headache." Billy took his advice and quenched his thirst little by little. As he drank, he listened to the other men bantering back and forth in argument. About _him_ no less.

"Look at 'em. He wasn't worth gettin' in the longboats for. He'll make a scrawny cabin-boy at best," Mason was griping. "Most likely'll get underfoot."

"The Cap'n will sort 'im out, right enough," declared a short gray-bearded man wearing glasses. 

"Aye, but --"

"What, yous sayin' we should just leave 'em here?" countered the man with the Brooklyn accent. 

"Keelhaul me, Mullins, I just don't want a kid aboard! We's buccaneers, not nannies!"

Billy nearly spat out the water in his mouth. "If there's one thing I'm not, it's a helpless little kid! Besides, I've been on a pirate ship before."

The men instantly dissolved into laughter. "You?!" choked Mason. "What the heck were ya -- the cannon broom?!" This set the other men off all over again. 

"You-you've been on a pirate ship?" Starkey gasped, wiping his eyes. "Pray tell, which one?"

The boy furrowed his eyebrows in thought, trying to remember. "I think it was called -- no wait. It started with a 'W' . . ."

Ignatious gave a sharp bark of laughter. "You mean you can't even remember?"

"Just hold on a moment, you old -- The _Walrus_! _That_ was the name of it, I'm sure!" the boy said, grinning. 

The men immediately fell dead silent. 

"Flint's ship?" muttered Starkey. 

"Poppycock," snorted Mason. "He's lyin'!" 

"I am _not!_" Jukes scowled. 

"If the boy says he was on Flint's ship--" shrugged Mullins. Billy turned to smile at him, thankful at least _someone_ believed him. 

"Belay that jaw music!" roared a new voice. Metal gleamed and Robert felt the boy shrink back against him in fear. Gallantly, the newcomer stepped into the light, letting Billy see his face as well as the curved blade at his belt. "Allow me to introduce myself, me lad. Captain James Hook, esquire."

"C-Captain! We-we thought you were waiting for us on deck!" 

"Aye, Gentleman Starkey! Waiting for your _immediate_ _return_, ya dull-witted lummoxes! My orders were clear, were they not?"

"B'jeepers, of course they were, sir!" Smee cried, grabbing Jukes' arm. "Come along now, ye young scalliwag!"

"Hey!" Jukes yelped and Mullins swatted the Irishman's hand away. 

"Belay that, Bosun!" Robert growled getting to his feet. "This lad is not our prisoner, so ye'll not be treatin' him like one! Come along, boy," he said in a much gentler tone, helping Billy stand. 

"But Cap'n," whined Mason, "He's just a --"

"Shut your worthless maw, ya slubberdegullion! Well, Mr. . .?"

"Jukes, sir. Billy Jukes."

"Mr. Jukes," Hook continued smoothly, "Unless you want to stay on this miserable island, then from now on you will work for us as our new cabin boy. Any objections?" the Captain asked, holding out his hand for the boy to shake.

Jukes gulped at the all too non-chalant way Hook's _other_ hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Then he looked back at the scattered embers - all that remained of the fire he'd struggled to keep himself warm with. He should be leaping at this chance to sign aboard the pirate's ship. Whatever happened, it was better than starving to death. 

Billy faced Hook, squared his shoulders, and shook the Captain's hand.

"No objections, sir. None at all."

**To Be Continued . . .**

Romanian (gypsy)/English Glossary  


Hai shala?
Do you understand?

Sheka!
Horseshit!

jostumal
enemy; "wishes you harm"

ma'rime
unclean; impure

chovihani
witch

Li' ha' eer! 
By the gods!


	5. Soul Cages 5

The moon's beams sliced through the canopy of the forest like knives, cutting paths of light through the darkness. To the stars, all appeared well. Most busied themselves with what stars normally do; twinkling wondrous secrets to each other or admiring themselves in glassy pools of water. A certain of their number waited in hopeful silence for the whimsical music of Peter's pipes. 

Only an eerie silence hung over the forests of Neverland. With soft chimes of disappointment, the stars continued their nightly vigil until dawn. 

They could not see what lay beyond the surface of the canopy they glimmered over. They did not know Peter was, at the moment, thrashing about in a net of faerie web, shrieking inaudible threats to the faerie Tinkerbell who stood watch nearby. He worked furiously at the knots, only entangling himself further in the web. He cursed her and called her names, but the cotton in his mouth muffled the words. Peter had tried to free his tongue first, but the more fluff he pulled out of his mouth, the more that came in to take its place until he was nearly gagging on it. 

Tink watched him struggle and flinched at his every muffled curse. She knew this wasn't him cursing at her, but it hurt nonetheless. Even though she knew it was useless, Tinkerbell had pleaded with Peter to fight the curse taking over him. She recounted adventures they'd shared, the wonderful games, how Peter had found their first lost boy (though it had really been on accident), and just about everything else she could think of. All to no avail, for though he could say nothing, he glared with unwavering venom.

Having exhausted herself with her efforts and tears, she simply huddled on the branch with wings drooped in despair. Peter stopped struggling, realizing it was futile and that he was wasting his strength. If only he had a weapon . . . something to free himself with! He'd slice through the web and likewise the faerie's wings and heart in a twinkling! If_ only_ . . . 

The faerie's eyes began to close and she widened them in alarm. She couldn't fall asleep. _But what's the harm? _A voice purred inside her ear. _He's helpless. You've trapped him well. You should take some rest for a job well done._

"Yes . . . some rest," Tinkerbell murmured. She didn't know why, but somehow she felt very warm and very comfortable. Only a tiny part of her consciousness railed against her for letting her guard down, but she drowned it out with a yawn. Tink's eyelids lowered, shut, and didn't open again for quite some time. 

A bluebird chirped and with a flutter of wings was suddenly on the branch supporting the web Peter was trapped in. At the moment, the boy was busy spitting magic cotton, which had begun to run out once Tink was no longer awake to supply it. The bluebird twittered softly, and began - almost casually - to sharpen its beak on the strongest strands of faerie web. 

Peter watched and smiled in delight.

* * *

Choking on a cry, he flailed out of pure terror, kicking at the blankets that ensnared his ankles. It took a few long moments of blinking in the darkness to determine his surroundings. The fact at last registered in his panicked brain that he was at the Indian village, and lying unharmed on a soft pallet. This signified no cause for immediate alarm. Weak with relief, the boy lay panting and reached up to wipe away the cold sweat beaded on his forehead. The dryness in his mouth made breathing tickle the back of his throat unpleasantly. 

Slightly's gaze sought the comforting rays of blue moonlight drifting through the edges of the tipi's opening, but the visions of his nightmare would not fully leave him. Things slithered from he shadows that the soothing light created and as his pulse quickened, he felt a burning moisture begin to collect over his eyes. No, he would _not_. Even as he remembered the claws shredding grooves into his flesh, leaving trails of wet black blood, he would not cry. There was something in his hand that glinted sharply. The lost boy stared at it in confused recognition, just as a hand gripped his shoulder. Heart plunging into ice-cold fear, Slightly twisted away and struck out blindly with his foot. His heel slammed into solid flesh and bone, the owner of which yelped and scrambled out of reach. 

His eyes darted about wildly until they fell upon Billy's form crouching an arm's length away, nursing a swollen mouth. Jukes flinched at the sight of him and backed up further. Slightly did not understand why until he saw the knife in his raised hand - which he had no recollection of unsheathing. If the lost boy could only have seen his face, he might have understood better. 

There was a silence between them, broken only by the struggle of lungs to draw in enough air for two rapidly beating hearts. 

"That must've been some dream," Jukes spoke up at last, eyes still on the weapon.

_ I could have killed him_, Slightly realized, and dropped the small dagger as if already stained with his friend's blood. "I'll be slightly fine," he choked unconvincingly. Half a second later, the lost boy buried his face in his hands and burst into tears. 

Arms wrapped around him awkwardly. Slightly made a dull-spirited attempt to pull out of the embrace. "It's allright," Billy murmured. "Whatever it was, you're safe now." 

Slightly's body trembled with more than just sobs. A voice was whispering assurances that it _wasn't_ allright, that he _wasn't_ safe. He waited for his friend's warm fingers to dig into his flesh and tear him apart, just like the cruel talons in his dream. And as suddenly as the fear had come, it vanished, and rational thought returned.

_I'm being more than slightly stupid. Billy would never hurt me - I know that better than a kingfisher knows the way south!_

_He's your true companion, is he? The same pirate who's fired cannon shot to splinter bones and splatter flesh - goodness, he'd never hurt a flea, _hissed suddenly in the boy's mind. Slightly's eyes widened, and he gave a shuddering gasp. Where had_ that_ come from? He waited for more, but nothing surfaced save for echoes of disbelief at the hateful thought.

"By Fawke's torch," Billy muttered bitterly. "This is all my fault. I should've kept my big mouth shut, at least until morning."

The tale he had told before they went to sleep, before Maegie had bid them good night and slipped out to find her own bed, was more twisted and dark than any story Slightly had heard. And worse yet, it had no ending; no closure. The evil had not been defeated. Only her acolyte Vanessa had been punished - perishing at the hands of Bill's mother, Daneatra. Arizael had gotten what she wanted then; a malleable body to house her spirit. But as for what she wanted now, other than pointless bloodshed, no one knew. There seemed to be very little method to her madness.

Slightly did not answer to this, his whole body trembling and stiff, only gradually relaxing. After what seemed like an eternity, he leaned his cheek against Billy's shoulder and rested fully into the embrace. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You were only defending yourself."

"But what if I'd --" The rest was never finished as a finger was placed over Slightly's parched lips. 

"You _didn't_, so there's no use worrying about it." _But you did have me scared, for a moment. An awfully long moment, Slight . . . _

Jukes' finger lifted from the boy's cracked mouth. "You need some water." Slightly nodded in agreement, then reached up quickly to wipe his eyes before he pulled away. Getting to his feet, Billy ruffled Slightly's hair affectionately, something that the lost boy scowled at, yet was too weary to complain of.

Trying to quell his own shakiness, which he was managing to hide a great deal better than Slightly, Jukes moved aside the skin flap. He looked back over his shoulder to say he'd only be a moment, and saw Slightly breathing unevenly, staring and pointing at something outside. Bill turned around quickly, and the surge of his own fright stifled a scream.

His throat constricting too painfully to cry out, Slightly groped among the sheets for the discarded knife. The effort was not necessary however, as Jukes rashly pounced on the wiry black creature, which gripped his wrists tightly and pressed its own weight against him, matching the gypsy's strength. Billy stumbled backwards into the tipi and the thing toppled in after him. Both were sent sprawling over a coverlet. "Wait! Stop! It's just me!" the figure wailed as the gypsy kicked, bit, and struggled with renewed effort to free his fists. Jukes froze for a moment and hastily got to his feet, muttering apologies. 

Just as his questing fingers brushed against the dagger's handle, Slightly recognized the voice of their would-be attacker and looked up quickly. The thin blue light coming in from the open entrance barely confirmed the owner's identity, but it was enough. Giddy relief washed over him to be replaced quickly with rage - at himself. Twice now. Twice he had come close to killing or injuring one of his friends. 

"_Nibs!_ You witless -- ! You're more than slightly lucky I didn't find what I was looking for until now!" Slightly yelled, pressing the edge of the ice-cold blade against the boy's neck. For a second or two, he was inexplicably pleased to see a flash of fear in Nibs' eyes. 

Now thoroughly disgusted with himself, Slightly jammed the knife into place on his belt, despite his wish to fling it into the nearest dark pool of water. 

"I - I just came to make sure you were okay. Something's happened!"

Beyond Nibs, both boys could see fires being lit and forms racing in all directions. Voices raised in query and anger and running footsteps pounded across the dusty ground. A small shape bounded their way on all fours, dodging her way through the chaos. Jukes snatched the calico up in his arms as soon as she came within reach. 

"Who's dead?" he asked expectantly, fingers knotting in the cat's fur so tightly that she voiced protest and nipped at him.

"Nobody was killed, Billy." His tone was not much of an assurance. What they could see of Nibs' face in the half-lit darkness was tense with worry.

"What's going on?" Slightly whispered. 

"Great Big Little Panther's hut was ransacked. Stuff was broken, shattered - just tossed all over the place. But the only thing missing . . . is Peter's _sword_."

* * *

Her whole body ached, but not half as badly as her wings. Groggily, she blinked open her eyes, trying to grasp a recognizable image in the jumble of memories going through her head. All she could understand, for the moment, was that Peter was gone, and that she was no longer anywhere near the tree that sheltered and concealed the Underground House. 

Things began to come into focus, with several dark lines splitting a single picture into fragments. The world eventually stopped its course on the merry-go-round, and Tink was able to determine that the lines were bars and that she was lying in a cage in a dimly candle-lit room, sunlight beating in vain at the heaviliy veiled windows. 

One figure rested upright in a chair, the other laid on a bed pressed against the left wall. Tink stared at the smaller figure on the bed before letting her eyes travel back to the sitting one. She froze, wings all but curling in terror. The eyes of whatever sat next to the bed were staring straight at her. The reflection of the candle's flame shone in them quite clearly.

"Glad to see you awake, sweet wings," it whispered. 

Tink made a small whimpering sound and raised her hands to form a small ball of light. Her magic sputtered and died, but in that briefest moment of illumination, she was able to discern who - or rather, what - had spoken. "Arizael . . ." she whispered. Her eyes snapped to the bed where the figure was moaning now, tossing and turning in its sleep. 

Arizael reached over and gently began stroking patterns across the figure's back with her fingernails. "Easy, little one, easy . . . I've a lovely a gift for you when you wake."

Peter seemed to calm down and resumed breathing peacefully. But any trace of fear in Tinkerbell's heart was now replaced with rage.

"What did you _do_ to him?" she shrieked, rattling the bars with tiny fists. She cried out at the burning sensation and withdrew hurriedly. 

"I've done nothing but open his eyes. He now sees that you are not worth his friendship. When he wakes, I shall let him destroy you, if he so desires."

Tink glared. "You're lying! Peter is innocent and good, he's not like this at all! Not even Hook is as bloodthirsty as you've made him act!"

Arizael laughed harshly. "All humans have a spark of cruelty within them, faerie. Children are no different. You know full well how Peter loves games . . . surely, he'll enjoy this one." 

The figure on the bed stirred and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Did you say my name, Lady?"

"How was your sleep, Peter?" Arizael knelt close, stroking his hair in a fond gesture. "Did you dream?" 

"I had a marvelous dream! That I won, as always." Peter got to his feet and approached Arizael with his hand outstretched. "Before I went to bed, you said you had a gift for me. Something that would help me fight Hook. I don't _need_ help of course, but I'd like to see it anyway." 

Her eyes glittered with pleasure. "Of course, Peter." Within moments, Peter's sword was in Arizael's hands, clean of its black bloodstains and shining with newness. 

Peter's eyes widened in joy as he picked up his faithful old blade, slicing the air in a few practice strokes. His merry glance caught a raven perched on a nearby branch and he smiled as if sharing a private joke between him and his shadow. 

There was a flash of gold and the raven screamed in alarm, black feathers bursting everywhere as the sword sliced through a branch mere centimeters from its head. The raven croaked in mixed indignance and fear as it flew away, leaving such a trail of obsidian feathers that Peter howled with glee to think of a bald raven flying home to its nest. Finally getting over the last traces of mirth, the boy drew the weapon back to his side, and girdled it on his belt. 

"I have observed, dear child, that a few of your friends are . . . shall I say, confused?" spoke Arizael. "They believe they can trust the pirates; _befriend_ them even. You must clear their eyes. Bring them to you as you see fit." Her fingers rested on Peter's blade and the metal grew hot for a moment, then cool once more against his skin. Arizael leaned down, brushed curly brown hair away from his ear, and whispered something. 

Peter nodded in understanding, and hopped to the window, preparing to fly off. 

"A word of advice, boy," called Arizael, "Retrieve your mother first. The rest should follow easily." 

* * * 

As soon as Peter's sword was discovered stolen, Great Big Little Panther had ordered his braves to go in search of Peter. At the Underground House, the braves soon found only the shredded remains of a faerie web hanging from the branches to give indication of what had happened. As skilled as they were with the art of tracking, the warriors could tell nothing save the obvious fact that Peter was gone to mystery, and Tinkerbell with him. 

Wendy's hands trembled ever so slightly around the cup of water she held in her lap. The news had been broken to her as gently as possible, but feather cushions have never been known to stop the blow of a dagger. No matter how many times they had fought, Wendy knew the faerie loved her in her own way, and in turn - through her maternal feelings toward all living creatures smaller than herself - Wendy loved Tink. It hurt to think of the faerie dead, and it hurt far worse to think that Peter, who cared for her so dearly, might've contributed to her demise. 

How he would grieve if ever he were returned to himself. Wendy wept his tears as well as her own; for she knew there was a chance he'd never be himself again to feel remorse for what he'd done. 

Beside her, Maegie could offer only her shoulder to lean on. This was one of those situations in which words were best left unspoken and tears unhindered. Wendy's sobs eventually ran their course until she succumbed to exhaustion. Carefully, Maegie laid her in a more comfortable position.

"Wennnndyyyy!" bawled a little voice from directly outside the teepee, just as she was folding a blanket over Wendy's steadily breathing form. The older girl moved quickly to yank apart the opening with a reproachful look on her face, which softened upon seeing the tearful Michael. 

"Where's my sister?" he pouted, crossing his arms. 

"Fast asleep, and staying that way. What's all the fuss about?"

"John stole my bear! And he's playing keep-away with Curly! I tried getting Wuffles back, but I now don't _wanna_ play anymore and they said that I have to --!" Michael was abruptly shushed, for his voice had been climbing higher in volume during his explanation. He was obliged to suffer patience while he was marched some distance away from the teepee. Maegie knelt so she could be eye-level with him. 

"Okay, go on now."

"They won't give him back to me no matter what! They say I have to catch him and it's not fair because I can't fly that fast! So I wanted Wendy to stop them." Again with the miserable little pout. Maegie offered a prayer of thanks that she didn't have any siblings of her own.

"I'll make them stop if you pipe down." 

"But . . ." Michael scrunched up his nose in consternation. "You can't! You're not Wendy!"

Maegie gave a most unlady-like snort. "Since when does your name have to be 'Wendy' in order to get anything accomplished around here?" 

"Look! There they are!" the little one pointed upwards and behind her. Maegie turned about to see two boys floating in midair, giggling with mirth. "John!" shrieked Michael with hands cupped around his mouth. "I'm gonna complain of you!"

"Michael is a cowardy custard! Michael is a cowardy custard!" John catcalled from twenty feet above. He tossed something to Curly and Maegie could make out a tatty dark-brown bear. 

"Stop it!" screamed Michael. "You're hurting him!"

"Hurting him?" Curly asked, raising an eyebrow. "How do you know Mr. Wuffles isn't having fun? Look, he's upside down! Wheeee!" Curly dangled the bear by one leg and swung him to and fro. 

Michael was _not _amused and made sure everybody within two miles heard about it. Maegie clapped her hands over her ears. This had to end now, before she went deaf as a post. Gathering her wits, which were somewhat jangled thanks to the pajama-clad tantrum going off full blast beside her, she smiled mischievously at Curly and held out her arms. "You wanna play too?" he asked, grinning back at her. 

John frowned suspiciously. Wendy sometimes smiled like that when she was about to trick them into getting her way. Something told him not to trust Maegie with this game, but Curly was already throwing the bear down. 

"Don't--!" started John, but it was too late. Wuffles plopped into Maegie's hands, and she handed it down to a relieved yet still crying Michael. 

"I don't want you to be my brother anymore! You're _mean!_" he wailed, and flew off to sit with Tootles by one of the cook fires. 

Seething, John turned on Curly. "I _knew _she was gonna do that! Why'd you throw it to her?"

Curly just shrugged. "If you knew, why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, very clever!" John glared back down at Maegie. "That was pretty rude to stick your nose into our business."

"Not half as rude as picking on someone two feet tall!"

"What I do isn't your concern, and besides it's just a toy!" the boy yelled back, though for just a moment he did look a bit regretful. "He hangs onto it way too much and . . . well, I think it's time he put aside such childish things."

"You're a lost boy of Neverland and you want Michael to grow up? Something doesn't rhyme in this limerick."

John's mouth opened and closed a few times. "She's got a point there," Curly admitted. His companion bristled and turned back to the girl. 

"Fine and jolly for you then! Now Michael's going to come crying to you every time he gets a _tick_ bite! Hope you enjoy having to take care of a whiny little _baby_!"

Maegie laughed. "You're the one whining like a baby because you're mad that I tricked you."

"You didn't trick me, you tricked _Curly_ and that's easy!"

"It is_ not!_" yelled the highly offended lost boy, but John wasn't finished.

"Just because you're a little older than us, you think that gives you the right to boss us around! You're _worse_ than a baby, trying to act like a grown-up all the time, and what for? You're just a silly girl and can't do anything but get in their way! Come on, Curly, let's find something else to do."

Curly watched the girl, taking note of her wide eyes. Whether she was angry was difficult to determine, for her face was primarly a mask of shock. His answer was given a half-moment later when she turned on her heel and began to walk at a fast pace. Girls only walked like that when they were_ really_ upset.

"Are you coming or not?" the middle Darling child snapped.

"I think you wounded her, John," Curly murmured. 

"So _what?_" John muttered. It was hard to feel any sympathy for her in the midst of his own self-pity. He knew now that Michael wasn't going to talk to him unless he apologized and that Wendy would probably scold him even if he did. He would've given back the bear at some point and everything would've been _fine_, but then _she _came along and made his little brother hate him. "Let's just get out of here."

Unable to see Maegie any longer amidst the confusing birds-eye-view of the Indian village, Curly shrugged and followed.

* * *

Maegie stormed along between smoldering cooking pits, focusing on calming her heart as she walked off her anger._ The middle of a war . . . why anyone would scorn acting like a mature human being is beyond me! Yes, I may not be anyone of importance, but at least I _try _to be responsible! _Maegie fought to ignore a suspicious prickle at the corner of her eyes. _Oh, stop it. And who _needs_ to fly or play or any of that nonsense? There's more than enough children around here, I don't need to contribute to all the . . ._

Five shapes zoomed above her, flying about in the air like wind-tossed leaves. "I challenge thee to a duel! Prepare to surrender!" announced a bear-capped youth. 

"Yeah, right, Nibs!" shouted one of the Twins. 

"You couldn't win a fight -

"Against a tree stump!"

"Oh no? With this magic sword I can conquer anything!" claimed Nibs. He extended the dented weapon to the sky, just as a dramatic ray of light shone down through a gap in the clouds. "_I have the power!_" 

Nothing, of course, happened. The Twins looked at one another with bright shifty eyes and burst into helpless giggles, rolling over in the air and clutching their ribs. The small red-headed one composed himself first, only to swipe Nibs' cap and toss it to his counterpart.

"Hey! Give that back!" laughed Nibs, chasing after. The forms disappeared from her line of sight, continuing their game through the sky.  
  
_ . . . fun._

Maegie continued to walk, her eyes fixed on the ground. Mere seconds later, something slammed very hard into her shoulder, pitching her forward to into the dirt. "Ouch!" she cried out as the friction caused the pebbles to scrape a raw patch on her knee. John, that little _brat. _Who else would have reason to attack her so? Infuriated, she leapt to her feet and spun around to glare at him. "Try that again, and I will hit you _so_ hard --"

Her voice simply died as she found herself nose to shin with something that was very much bigger than her. Slowly she looked up . . . and up . . . and still higher until she could see the gigantic warty face of a troll. 

She drew in breath until her lungs ached and opened her mouth to scream. All that came out was a strangled little squeak. 

"Olook terrible sorry," grated the amused creature's voice, as it turned one corner of its mouth up in a jagged smirk. "Olook think maybe he tap your shoulder bit _too_ hard. You be nice little girl and tell Olook where is Great Big Little Panther, eh?"

Maegie's mouth worked soundlessly a couple of times, then she swallowed. She didn't know where the shaman was but had no desire to answer so, lest the troll be displeased and squash her like a bug. Fortunately, someone came to her rescue. 

"Greetings, Olook," said Tiger Lily ceremoniously. "My father is holding conference with a few others at the moment. I will lead you to him." Tiger Lily turned to Maegie and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "Everyone who came here did so because they want to help, not harm," she whispered in the girl's ear, "Don't be afraid." 

Maegie managed a nod and another squeak, then watched Olook follow Tiger Lily to where her father was speaking to a couple of sparkling lights that she supposed were faeries. Both of which who seemed to be rather agitated about something. 

"I say, you certainly took a nasty spill, m'lady." 

Nerves still on edge, she whirled and found herself facing a concerned Starkey and Smee. "Oh. Well, I'm all right now, thank you." Self-consciously, Maegie smoothed her skirt and did her best to brush off the dust. 

"Bless me for a boat whistle, you're bleedin'. That brute Olook doesn't know how to treat a wee lass such as yourself proper. Come with us and we'll get ya patched up right enough." 

"Uh, thank you." Her face reddened, whether because of the state of her appearance, blood running down her leg and all, or being referred to as a 'wee lass', Maegie could not tell. She followed the two men as they set off for a cluster of brightly colored tents.

"You handled yourself quite well, you know. I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd fainted, coming face to face with _that_ monstrosity," stated the British pirate, fingering the hilt of his rapier. 

"I'm certain he meant no real harm. Just didn't know his own strength," she advocated.

"Well and perhaps so, but if anyone tries something like that again with one of our lot, they'll be tickled with Johnny Corkscrew."

Several heads turned to regard the bosun coldly. Maegie shuddered. "Ah, Mr. Smee, I wouldn't say such things. We're not really in the position to insult anyone."

"Oh, pardon me then. What sort of insulting position are we in?" 

Starkey sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. "What she means, old boy, is that we shouldn't bicker with the other beasties if we expect anything to come out of this 'great alliance'. Which makes me wonder where that brandy-warmed fool of a ship's carpenter got off too." 

A distant outraged roar from behind the next row of tents was his answer. "Oh, Saints preserve us, not again." Ignatious ran a hand through his hair, and it clenched in his raven locks as if preparing to tear them out by the roots. 

"Bejeepers, and it's worse when he's sober, lass," Smee informed Maegie, who was staring wide-eyed in the direction of the loud swearing. Starkey swept his cape behind him and began to march doggedly toward the fight. Half a beat later, Maegie ran after him. "Hold on there, miss! Tis not safe for a girl to be caught in the middle of this!" Smee scrambled to catch up.

"I'll have yer eye sockets for dice shakers, donkey!" Mason yelled, unsteadily swiping at a cackling satyr. The goat man jumped back and bleated in mock terror at Mason's drunken advance. 

"You're in your cups, human! A satyr like Brannie Bosnuckle can hold his liquor as easily as his women! Can you say the same for yours, sailor, or mayhap your preferences differ?" Groans and howls of mirth intermingled from the gathered mob to jeer the carpenter to his feet. 

"Well!" Starkey exclaimed, stopping short of yanking his shipmate out of the fray. "I say, that comment was absolutely uncalled for. Go get him, my good fellow!" he cheered Mason on. 

Brannie hopped aside at another unsuccessful lunge, giving Mason a whack between the shoulders with his cudgel. The large man grunted in pain and once again started to get up. The satyr, getting bored at the lack of challenge, threw his full weight on the pirate and crouched there, pinning him. "Say good night!" he laughed, raising his cudgel high above Mason's bleary head. 

Seeing that no-one was making a move to stop this, Maegie rushed forward before logic could convince her otherwise. "Stop it!" she demanded, grabbing handfuls of the satyr's fur lined waist and tugging sharply. The pain of being yanked on unexpectedly caused Brannie to lose his balance and topple backwards into Maegie. She plopped down on her rear under his weight, but was too relieved that Mason's crown hadn't been split like a melon to complain. 

The satyr sat up and leered as she tried to squirm out from beneath him. "Ohhh. Oooh. Pretty little thing, isn't we?" His hands went to her chest, and made a disappointing discovery. "Oh, hell. Flat as a griddlecake." 

Her face seemed to pale and flush all at once while snorts and muffled squeaks of shock erupted all around. "You _obscene__ half-_assed_ twit! _As if anyone asked your damned opinion in the first place!" she hollered, throwing a punch. It connected solidly with the satyr's cheek and knocked him sideways though not completely off his perch. Not even pausing to shake the sting out of her knuckles, she kicked his rump squarely off her lap. Brannie stumbled unsteadily onto his hooves and backed away as the enraged girl then picked up his cudgel.

"Let it alone, lass, ye don't want to start up another row again," coaxed an old dwarf, fearing more for her safety than Bosnuckle's. Though shaken, the satyr's leer had not quite disintegrated. "Not after this ended one so nicely w'out anyone havin' to be harmed, aye?" 

Though her cheeks burned with humiliation, the girl tossed down the weapon. "You're right. I didn't start this nonsense and I won't continue it."

"A very wise choice," sounded a voice behind her. She turned to see Cecco and fled to his side, not caring how childish it looked. The Jamaican pirate turned his gaze to the rest of the assembled men, dwarves, centaurs, trolls and satyrs. Each of the five races was known for their bravery and cunning in battle, but if it were used poorly, it would be of no use to Neverland at all. 

Lean Wolf stepped past Cecco and raised his arms to quell the renewed heated murmuring started by Mason's baleful glare. Starkey pointedly cleared his throat and viciously poked Mason's ribs with his elbow until the carpenter assumed a neutral expression. 

"The Council is beginning to gather and we will tell you of our decision before sunset. There is much yet to learn about Arizael, but you should all know this. Once, long ago, she was a war goddess. When you let the hatred in your heart guide your actions, you pay her homage."

The warrior's words seemed to turn the lot of them into shame-faced schoolboys. One dwarf bowed his head and sheepishly scratched at the fuzz behind his ear. "He has a point, lads. Come on, there's tasks to be done. We should be putting other skills to use."

"Here's to that!" agreed a centaur. "We'll fetch water for the injured, and see what we can snare for food." He turned to a younger one of his kind. "Thorntail, you're our best forager and we're in need of Black NeverFir bark to keep flesh wounds from festering." The yearling nodded and galloped off. 

"This is turning out rather nicely now that we've acting like civilized people," Starkey declared. "What can we do to help?" About a half-hour later, he was huffing indignantly, up to his elbows in stained garments and soapy water. "If I ever find the presumptious blockhead who put us in charge of woman's work, I'll --!"

"You'll what, laddie?" snapped the scarred, fierce-looking female dwarf overseeing them.

"N-Nothing of course. Pass the washboard?" Ignatious asked meekly.

* * *

Mugwort had very little faith in what mingling with humans would accomplish for his current distress. Indeed, it had always been his opinion that humans were better at harming than helping - however good their clumsy intentions might be. And yet here he was, away from his cozy shop in the market square of Small Monday Island, talking with a human that sported the skin of a dead panther on his head. It was amazing where one's principles would crawl off to when a beloved relative was in danger. Mugwort had raced to the human village on ravenback as soon as young Wisp had brought the news of Tinkerbell's disappearance. 

They had arrived before dawn in the midst of an uproar, shortly after the shaman's tent had been discovered in shambles. Wisp had understandably wanted to go aid the search for Tinkerbell, but the feeble-winged Mugwort refused to let him go. He was terrified at the prospect of being left alone among the humans. For once in his life Wisp obeyed his elders, dispatching his raven to help instead. It hadn't been until now that things had calmed enough for both Wisp and Tinkerbell's grandsire to gain audience with Great Big Little Panther.

"Are you certain your braves have searched everywhere?" questioned the elder fairy. His eyes gazed upon Great Big Little Panther with deep sorrow, already half-believing that the worst had happened. "We are a small race; even a fallen leaf could hide our forms." 

The shaman lowered his head in remorse. "They have and I am sure they are searching still, looking in every possible crevice. I pray there is still a chance we'll find her safe."

"She's _got_ to be in trouble," piped up the younger fae, his slender form trembling with anxiety. "She would have found a way back --"

"Calm your heart, Wisp," admonished Great Panther. "It is in all possibility she was pursued by Peter when he escaped and forced into hiding." He saw Olook approaching with his daughter out of the corner of his eye. "Please, take Tinkerbell's grandsire to where he may sit in cool shade. There is someone else I must speak with now."

The green fae closed his eyes, and without another word wrapped his arm around the old faerie's bony shoulders, leading him to a nearby oak. However painful Tink's disappearance was for him, Wisp knew it was far worse for Mugwort. . The cobbler had lost his wife Rosemary a couple winters ago. Now he faced the task of faerie funeral rites for his only granddaughter. Tinkerbell's parents wouldn't help much; they had enough on their plates with business at Oberon's Court to be concerned with silly little things like a death in the family. 

Mugwort sighed deeply, finding himself a soft patch of lichen on the sturdy oak branch. "I don't know what's become of Tinkerbell, young Wisp. But chin up, lad, there's no use in looking so dismal. Perhaps it's as the good shaman said and she's nestled up safe somewhere, waiting for Peter to call off the chase. If she's alive, she'll make it back to us when she can. And if not . . . we'll find her."

"Yes. We will," Wisp assured him. The old man grinned back, settling back into the cushioning green growth on the tree bark. Wisp fondly studied the elder fae in his repose; tufts of red hair poking every which way around his pointed ears from beneath his leaf cap. The cap Mugwort seldom took off for the sole fact that the crown of his head was as bald as a snow pea. 

Feathers the color of pitch filled his vision and Wisp was nearly blown off his perch by the back draft of a very large bird landing next to him. "Nightshade!" he exclaimed, alighting in the air. "Any news?"

"Found Peter," croaked the raven ruefully, eyeing his distressed plumage. Nightshade was a simple creature; he cared for survival, not petty grudges. But now he was beginning to understand just why his faerie companion despised that boy. He'd lost some of his best feathers and quite nearly his life for nothing but a cruel child's temporary amusement. 

"You did! Any sign of Tink, then?" Wisp asked, turning to look at Mugwort's reaction. To his surprise, he discovered the elder snoring, leaf cap pulled snugly over his eyes. Wisp decided to leave him as he was; the poor fellow _had _been up since before dawn. If the news was disappointing, he'd be better off sleeping through it.

Nightshade clicked his beak. He had no intention of going back to That Place. "Saw only Peter. No Tink," he lied. Really, it was for Wisp's own good as well as his own. "Stupid Pan-thing tried cut off my head with shiny poke-stick, then fly North. That all I know."

Wisp was not fooled. With amber eyes narrowed to slits, he peered closely at the fidgeting bird. "You're lying to me, aren't you?" 

"No."

"Come clean, you overglorified feather duster."

Grumpily, the raven turned on the branch so his back was facing Wisp. "Not lying. Not _listening_."

"_Must_ you be so obstinate?" There was a faint whoosh like breeze blowing through a crack. The raven turned his head to glance behind him and found that Wisp had vanished. 

"Oh, Nightshaaade!" coaxed a voice right above him. The raven looked forward again to see a mouth-wateringly plump ripe Neverberry dangling inches from his beak. His beady eyes widened with greed and he stretched his neck without thinking toward the tantalizing treat. Wisp held it just out of his reach, tsking at him. "Who's not being a good boy?"

The bird swelled up in indignation. This was_ so_ unfair. 

"You want rescue stupid pretty fly-thing from crazy witch-person, you can do by self!" he squawked.

"Aha, so she's at Witch's Peak," the fae deducted. The words sunk in and Wisp dropped the Neverberry. Nightshade made a frantic swoop and caught it just barely before it fell into a thorn bush to be lost forever. Not wanting to drop the precious burden in his mouth to throw insults at Wisp (and unable to _find _them, he was so angry), the raven perched again on the branch and just _glared. _

Quite naturally, Wisp was oblivious. "Cattails and shrew bones! Tink's with _Arizael?! _Was she harmed in any way?!"

Nightshade slowly tilted back his head to let the treat slide down his gullet, clearly enjoying Wisp's irritation. The green fae knew he was being punished for his earlier transgressions. Getting angry would do nothing. "Nightshade, I promise I'll go find the ripest berries in Neverland -- as many as you can eat -- if you just tell me all you saw. _Please._"

"You want more than ask. Nightshade not stupid. Once you know she is in iron cage," Nightshade interrupted himself to peck at berry pulp which had dripped onto the bark. Wisp blanched noticeably. Iron sapped away all a faerie's strength and even life if exposed long enough to the dreaded element. "Then you demand we try release her. Like usual noble idiot self."

"Well, you don't have to go with me if you don't _want_ to."

"Going alone then? Now you just idiot." 

Wisp scowled. "Look, I know Tink isn't gonna leap into my arms just because I let her out of a cage - even if it _is_ iron. I'm not trying to impress her, I'm trying to save her life. There won't be any heroics. I'll just fly in when the witch's back is turned, open the cage, and we'll both get the heck outta there. Satisfied?"

The raven stared at the faerie as if he'd suddenly grown mushrooms from his ears. Then the large bird simply shook his head and hopped toward the crestfallen Wisp. "Nightshade fly with you. One brain better than none."

* * *

The shaman turned his gaze to where sunlight streamed and reflected off gleaming shadow, its presence betrayed only by the soft impatient scraping of hooves in the earth. Great Big Little Panther moved toward the silvery figure silently, calling upon the protective spirits to shield them both from sight. Unicorns were secretive creatures; the ones in Neverland being no exception.

The shaman blew gently at an inquisitive dragonfly, shooing it out of the protective barrier. "Greetings, Moondream. What have you seen?"

The unicorn dipped her horn, waiting for the tall man to touch it and share the knowledge she had learned. As if gazing through a smoked pane of glass, Great Panther could see a vision of Hook leading a small gang of his men up the steep mountainside of Witch's Peak. 

"Move your feet, you worthless flesh sacks, before I send you to prance over the burning coals of hell!" he yelled at his cowering hesitant men. 

Great Big Little Panther's eyebrows furrowed. In all the time Panther had known the man, Hook's voice had always held the same attributes as a predatory feline's. When angry, it was likened to a roar; when cunning, it was soft, soothing, and ten times more dangerous for its unpredictable charm. Now it was hoarse, hungry; filled with rage and desire for bloodshed. A far cry from the demeanor in which Hook often prided himself. 

"Cap'n," simpered One-Eye, while his companions panted from nervousness. "Why are we goin' ta visit _her?_ Shouldn't we be lookin' for the Pan boy?"

"The steps toward victory, m'dear bilge rat, are often taken in an uphill climb. Arizael has sent a summons to me, claiming she has the thing I most need to revenge myself upon the young reprobates who have so tormented me. Whether or not she is being entirely truthful, it is still an opportunity I desire to take."

"Wh-what if she tries somethin'? Like turnin' us all into newts?" quivered Turk.

Hook voiced his disdain in deep-throated mirth. "I certainly hope that whatever it is the lady has for me, it will grant spines to my crew of quivering jellyfish."

He turned his back on the men and continued his upward progress. Reluctantly, Turk and the others followed suit. The vision began to dim until all Panther could see was the dark behind his own eyelids. He opened them and shook his head in fear. This did not bode well for Neverland.

"Father?" questioned a tentative voice. 

"Hard-to-Hit," the shaman addressed the boy behind him. "What news?"

"Almost all the members of the council have arrived. Tiger Lily showed them to the meeting hut you chose. Lady Arrol of the Woodfolk, King Granat of the Mountainfolk, and Lord Oberon of the Airfolk. Oh, and Sloxwarzth of the Underfolk." Hard-to-Hit struggled to pronounce the last name, and couldn't help but show his distaste at _having_ to say it. 

"Hard-to-Hit," the shaman repeated, this time with an air of reprimand. "You know all who gathered to help us are deserving of equal respect, whether or not you find them beautiful." The boy looked down and had the grace to look embarrassed. 

"I know. Well, everyone's here except . . ."

"King Kyros and Crooked Tail of the Merfolk. I understand of course why she could not make it, and have sent word for her to simply do all she can to defend what belongs under her reign. As for the Lord of Ice . . . I had hoped he would see Arizael as a threat to _all_ of Neverland." The disappointment in his voice was heavy. 

"He doesn't think anything can get past that ice barrier he put up. I think he may be right. Not even Peter could've . . ." The young Indian trailed off sadly, thinking about his friend. Panther placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. 

"All will be mended. Believe that with all your heart. Hope is too often dismissed by despair in troubled times."

* * *

The council went about as well as one could expect when four proud leaders with differing opinions on the way things should be done were shoved into the same breathing space. After several obligatory speeches, each basically expressing hope that the alliances would continue after the coming battle, the elders settled down and began to toss forth strategy. This was interrupted shortly, as Great Big Little Panther insisted they pay more attention to a another related matter. As they were bound to do sooner or later, arguments exploded. 

"I have just about had it with this utter _nonsense!_" Lady Arrol threw her delicately sculpted hands into the air. King Granat twitched at the strident Elf Queen's voice and surreptitiously shifted towards Sloxwarzth who was busily picking his nose with long gray fingers. Just as quickly, the dwarf changed his mind and began scooting back the way he came. Lord Oberon rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off an approaching migraine.

"My warriors are more than ready to march up there and do whatever it takes to bring Arizael down, and you're worried about the fate of the silly woman who made a pact with this entity in the first place?"

"It is believed that she did it," Panther replied evenly, "To save her son's life." 

"Oh. It is 'believed'. Believed by whom?" Arrol demanded, raising a thin eyebrow. "The boy himself I suppose?"

"I am _certain _he was not lying."

Oberon spoke up before Arrol could raise another fuss. "None of us would be accusing the lad of lying. But I admit I am suspicious. You have told us that previously, the boy had no knowledge whatsoever of his past until he returned from the failed - and very _foolish_, might I add - ambush on Witch's Peak. Arizael had touched him and her former familiar at once, and the resulting contact of all three brought forth the memories Arizael had stripped of them both. Is this not accurate?"

Panther nodded. "It is."

"Wot are you gettin' at?" muttered Sloxwarzth, now inspecting the filth beneath his nails for lack of boogers to keep him occupied. Granat slid an inch sideways in Arrol's direction, no longer caring if he suffered hearing problems for it later. 

"What I'm coming about to," Oberon said, in very miffed tones, "Is this. What if Arizael had the presence of mind to throw in a few _false_ memories with the real ones? The boy's mother may be dead and long buried. We never know." 

Lady Arrol breathed out, impressed. "Finally, someone who talks sense." Oberon looked quite pleased with himself. The temptation to ruin the Lord's smug mood was too much for Sloxwarzth. 

"Nah, we _don't_ know. Tricky minx, isn't she, that Arizael? She's got you goody-goods right where she wants you, trapped 'tween morals and logic." He grinned loathsomely. Something dark caught between his yellow teeth squirmed and then went still again. King Granat was now practically sitting on the Elf Queen's lap. "Kill the host, she could find another while you all build a cairn and bewail the loss of an innocent. Give her mercy for the whelp's sake, and she may have a bit a fun with you first before gutting you on your own pikes. By hell's coals, what a pair of choices, eh?"

Granat's lip curled. "That's enough outta you, Slothwart."

"It's _Sloxwarzth_, but then I can't expect a dwarf to pronounce _anything_ right while he reeks of stale rum," the Goblin King retorted coolly. The dwarf spluttered in outrage and reached for his axe. Arrol seized his wrist. 

"Don't let him taunt you, Granat. He's not worth staining good steel over."

"I don't need no-one to tell me what to do," Granat snapped, his unwavering glare never leaving the Goblin's smirking face. 

"Anyone," Arrol corrected primly. The dwarf bristled at the unwelcome grammar lesson, but sat down nonetheless. 

"Sloxwarzth _does_ have a point," Oberon admitted, trying to salvage his pride. "It appears we are caught with a difficult choice. We must vote among ourselves on whether to risk all for the life of one who is presumably innocent, or sacrifice one for the sake of all." 

A silence fell over all who were gathered there. Panther carefully cleared his throat. "Might there be no other way but to vote upon such extremes? To defeat an enemy, one does not necessarily need to kill them." 

Granat gave his red age-streaked beard an impatient tug. "My warriors have families too, you know. I'm sure not all of them will remain alive to return home. Now I hear that Arizael's a monster, a goddess, a mad witch, a - a demoness?" He pounded his fist on the bench. "I don't know _what _the hell she is, nobody does, and that worries me! We just can't risk so many lives for the sake of one. If we kill her, it'll be over faster."

Sloxwarzth chuckled derisively, but went ignored.

"I know what you must think of this, Great Big Little Panther," Arrol gestured impatiently. "But I can only agree with Granat. It is a heavy choice, but not a difficult one. The only mercy _I_ promise the host of Arizael is a proper burial." 

* * *

The sun shone down upon the residents of Neverland in such a way that shadows resembled little more than black puddles beneath one's feet. It was noon, and Maegie had so far learned that nothing whined as irritably as a man forced into domestic labor, that Smee had an uncanny skill for whistling every sea shanty that existed off-key, and that Mason's testosterone level really _was _worse when he was sober.

"Keelhaul me, but I wish the girl had left it alone," he griped as Ignatious fussed over him accordingly, cleaning Alf's cuts and abrasions with hot water and cloth. Whether he was tending to Mason out of sheer fellowship or merely taking the opportunity to avoid more washing was hard to tell. "I coulda rammed that little scug's horns up his own alleyway, if not for her meddlin'. Lucky for him she stepped in when she did."

Squealing in vexation, Maegie threw her hands up in the air and went to go beat another sodden garment against a rock. She impatiently batted aside a pair of bloomers hanging on the line and nearly broke her nose colliding with someone. "_Excuse_ me," she muttered, walking past him. 

"Maegie?" Billy's voice made her turn immediately. They regarded one another in startled silence, each taking in the other's appearance. Maegie's skirt still had a tear above the knee and though her leg had finally been cleaned and bandaged up, dried blood still clung to the fabric. Billy's clothes and a portion of his face, on the other hand, was smudged with soot. "I haven't seen you all day," he managed awkwardly. 

"Y . . Yes. I'm rather aware of that." 

"Are you well?" he inquired in concern, noticing the smears of crimson on her person.

She gazed at him for a second, peered over at the men of the Jolly Roger and suddenly remembered she was angry with males in general. "_Well?_ I _would_ be well if it weren't absolutely _ridiculous_ around here! Grown men, tearing into each other when we're all supposed to be banding together, and then sulking over the embarrasment of being told off for it. I've seen five year-olds who didn't complain as much and that's _saying _something! And don't even get me _started_ on the damnsatyr!" Maegie's expression grew accusingly woeful. "I missed you." 

_And worried myself half to death, you silly brat! Do you _know_ what it's like to wake at the crack of dawn with everything going barmy around you, and then finding an empty hut when you search for your friends? If Robert Mullins hadn't assured me you weren't dead --!_

"I'd have been there if I could, Mae. Though I rather doubt my presence would have changed any of it." 

_And just who gave you permission to call me Mae? Bugger all that for a lark. I liked it. _

Jukes grinned sheepishly, as if sensing her initial reaction to the pet name. She rolled her eyes, yet couldn't help but smile back. "Of course it wouldn't have. But I certainly would have _felt _better. In any case, where's Slightly?"

Billy glanced back over his shoulder. "Last I saw him, he was with the centaurs helping fill waterskins. There's a lot of calls for water going around and only one stream nearby." Maegie then noticed he was rubbing his left arm as if it pained him. "I was working at one of the forges," he explained. "There's a shortage of weapons for all the volunteers. I needed something to do with my hands, and Slightly was getting edgy for some reason. We both decided it would be best if we went to work to get our minds off things."

"At one of the forges?" Maegie repeated, after a brief inner debate over what to say. Her eyes fell on his arms and noticed how strong they looked. Hadn't it been just two days past when he'd placed them around her shoulders to help her run from danger? "You've been hammering away on an anvil for hours then. Does it hurt?"

"I must have been too aggressive. And I guess I'm out of practice; I had no means to being away from the Jolly Roger." Billy looked up and grinned at her proudly. "Someday, I want to show you some of the designs I made for machines. If it's possible." His dark brown eyes grew more than a hint of sadness in them and Maegie glanced away, wondering why she'd been looking into them in the first place.

"Of _course_ it's possible. Or it will be, once we pull out of this mess," she attempted to comfort. But she knew there was more to it; that even if Arizael was defeated and Hook freed from her power, Jukes might still not be welcome aboard the pirate ship. "And if not, then you can simply make new ones." Her fingertips reached out and brushed against his sore arm; once again, she was acting without leave from her brain. 

"I - I know how to get some of the pain out. If you don't mind." 

"No, uh, I don't." 

Trying to ignore the fluttery sensation in her stomach, Maegie moved behind Bill and began kneading his shoulders. Her fingers found the knots in his back and neck and worked them out with slow, steady movements. As awkward as Billy felt, he did trust her and so could not help but relax. Maegie's touch was providing more relief than pounding his emotions out on metal had. She might not have had strong hands like Robert, who'd usually been the one to pound out all the kinks in his back after a hard day's work, but just the feel of them sliding carressingly over his skin was like cool water to a fevered man.

Slightly watched from a distance. Wordlessly, he brought the waterskin to his lips and drank of it; the centaurs had allowed him to take a filled one for his efforts at helping them. A reward, they said, for being a helpful young lad while he could have darted off at any time to seek amusement. Several times he did yearn to stand up from his kneeling position in the pebbly mud around the stream and fly off to play games with the other lost boys. Instead of being near the earth, he quite understandably wanted to be up there. Above all the clouds, the grownups and their war, and the madness . . . 

But he had continued his task, knowing that any escape would only be temporary. All morning long after he'd left Billy's side to let him work at the forge, the same voice that had sprung up after his nightmare still whispered thoughts in his head. Bad ones. Most of which concerned just about anyone who was unfortunate enough to get within his line of vision. Slightly couldn't understand it, and he hadn't tried, simply ignoring the spiteful words and throwing himself into his labor. The pleasant sounds of the forest and babbling stream had, for a time, drowned out whatever the voice had to say. But now there were harsh sounds of labor that grated on his already frayed nerves, and he was sure it would start again if he didn't distract himself. 

With a somewhat shaky hand, he stoppered the waterskin and walked over to his friends. "So there you two are!" he said, and could not help a smirk when both of them jumped guiltily. Maegie had two spots of red on her cheeks as she let her hands drop from the gypsy boy's shoulders. Billy was left stammering for excuses, although the poor boy really shouldn't have tried. "Am I slightly disturbing anything?" 

"No," Jukes scowled, grateful for the soot hiding his blush.

"Sorry," Slightly apologized anyway. "Want to grab a bite to eat?"

"Well, I'm for it. I've about had it hanging around with those shipmates of yours. They act as if they're going to turn into melons just for doing a bit of washing!" 

Billy laughed sheepishly. "They can tend to overreact." His smile became more impish. "Not unlike a certain young lady with a pouch of shaman powder."

All three reflected upon the famous 'Blue Water Serpent' incident. "Billy? Shut up," Maegie chimed with a false air of sweetness.   


Several gnomes across the riverbed suddenly dropped their work tools as they hurried toward the center of the village. Shouts, curses, song, and clanging hammer all quieted. The trio could hear the melodic blow of a conch shell accompanied by steady beats of a drum. The Council of Elders was calling for audience. 

Jukes' expression had gone from teasing to decidedly ill. "So. They've decided, then." 

"Billy," Maegie breathed softly. No more words passed between the three as Jukes raised his eyes to the horizon. Slightly and Maegie pressed reassuring hands to his back and shoulders. Together, the children walked toward the gathering crowd. Daneatra looked up from the vole's burrow she had been spying on and sprinted after to close the distance between them.

"Comrades," a female's voice was lifting above the excitedly murmuring crowd. The three children stopped a little ways behind the throng. A wooden platform raised six feet from the ground, magicked to float in the air beneath the Council's weight so all could see the speakers. The Elf Queen raised her hands for their attention. When she deemed it quiet enough to continue, she spoke again. "Arizael's evil is great, but it will not stand before our combined forces. Her will is to cause discord and war among the tenants of Neverland. But we have already beaten her. Simply by standing here, all of us united. So long as we march under the same banner, she will fall. And fall she must if Neverland is to be free."

Several choruses of "Hear, hear!" echoed amidst pounding shields and other noises of approval. 

"We attack at dawn's light on the morrow. She will not live to see the sun set."

Jukes look wretchedly away as cheering erupted once more, making his ears ache with the cacophony. Daneatra, upset by both the deafening noise and what she'd heard, slinked toward his ankles and bunched up against them to comfort Billy as much as her own self. 

Arrol lifted her head proudly as she surveyed the assembled warriors. Her roving eye caught sight of the three children standing apart from the rest. The boy's eyes were on the ground, as she had expected them to be. The Elf Queen felt a twinge of fear for him then; if the lad did not see reason for their decision, might not Arizael seek the golden opportunity to twist his heart further against their cause? It was more than plausible. The war goddess already had uncanny connections with the boy. The last thing any of them needed was for their efforts at freedom to be torn asunder from the inside. 

No. The boy must be made to understand why this had to be. Arrol looked behind her and caught the gaze of Sloxwarzth, Oberon, and Granat. As if sensing her thoughts, they too looked toward young Jukes and nodded. Summoning her powers, Arrol moved the floating platform over to the crowd's edge. "You there!" she called out. What was his name again? Confound it. "William, is it?"

"Bill," murmured the youth, face heating up as every head swiveled around to stare at him and the towering Elf Queen. Jukes felt Slightly and Maegie stiffen on either side of him. 

"Very well. Bill," Arrol corrected herself. "We know your grief, boy, and we can understand how you would come to be angry at our agreement. It's for the good of all Neverland, including your own self. Surely you do not ask so many to lay down our lives for the sake of your mother?"

Billy was quiet. Arrol mistook his silence for an answer and drew herself up disapprovingly. "There are other children here who have lost their parents. Do you hold yourself above them?" 

The boy looked up, eyes smoldering with pain and anger. "I hold myself above no-one. I will not try to stop or sabotage your actions, if that's what you think. I know that when you destroy Arizael, my mother will be put to rest. Not even as a cat could she stay with me if this is your final decision. Yes, I will feel grief and I feel it even now, but I _never_ expected people to die to spare me of it!" 

The answer did not wholly satisfy Arrol, nor the other members of the Council. "Young one, if you do not stand against us, then can it be safe to say you stand _with_ us?"

"You ask me to help kill my own mother? Is it not enough that the weapons I forged today for our defense are to be used against her? Or maybe you think it fitting that since Arizael's host and I are of the same flesh, I should be the first to stain my craftmanship with her blood?" he shot back. 

"Of all the impudence!" Arrol snapped, face livid. "How dare you raise your voice to me?" Her eyes seemed to shoot sparks and Billy looked down, unable to meet their ferocity. "Such a quick temper you have," she breathed after a moment of tense silence. "Indeed, you two _must_ be of the same lineage."

Jukes flinched. "My mother is Daneatra, not Arizael."

"Could have fooled me. And henceforward, you will speak only when I give you permission."

All the while, a towering rage had been building up in Slightly. He wanted dearly to say something in Billy's defense, but for all his boldness, he could not find where to begin to tell the Elf Queen off. Words scampered around his mind and fled away before he could grasp them. And yet, as if it had a will of its own, his mouth unhinged and spoke without leave. 

"You're all _complete_ hypocritical idiots, you know that?" 

"I beg your pardon!?" Arrol fairly screeched. Throughout the gawking masses, hands flew up in all directions to cover ringing ears. 

Slightly felt his lips twist into a sneer, and a flutter of terror pumped his heart faster than normal. These were _not _actions by his own choice. "You're so caught up in the glory of fighting for Neverland's freedom that you've not stopped to consider any other options, have you? Arizael will fall before unitedness, you claim. What a sad disillusion you have. She's a goddess of war, self-named witch to lessen her importance and thus fool mankind. Mere weapons cannot slay her; neither would an army with double-standards. Go on, whip your goodwilled, peace-loving buffoons up into a frenzy to finish her off. She may kill herself _for_ you - by laughing!"

The Elf Queen spluttered. "How _dare -- !_"

"I dare because it sickens me to see history repeat itself. You're too busy preening your feathers to worry about the poor fools you're sending off to fight. Took you four long enough to decide what we're all supposed to do, didn't it? And such a simple, predictable decision it came to." Arrol stiffened, every delicate feather on her gown collar bristling until she resembled a badly startled porcupine. Slightly made a desperate attempt to stop speaking, but it was as if he were outside of his body watching his mouth move. "You don't have the slightest idea what to do, but neither of you want to admit that to the other! Either that or you all sat around on your arses, exhausting your wits to trade barbs!"

Arrol's hand blurred before his face, and he heard a sharp snap. Slightly took a moment to wonder why his face was turned in a different direction before the throbbing pain in his cheek clued him in. He touched the reddening mark and heard, as if from very far away, Maegie and Billy shouting a long string of obscenities at the astonished Elf Queen. Granat and Oberon gaped and stammered, while Sloxwarzth looked as if he were trying very hard not to snort out laughing. 

Then one sound silenced them all: Peter's crow of triumph.

* * *

The glade was a moderately nice one so far as glades went. Birds sang, crickets chirped. and the drone of bees generated from the clumps of clover, forget-me-nots, and columbine growing around the roots of sheltering oak trees. Or at least they did before the pirates set up camp. 

Granted, they couldn't quite be called 'pirates' at the moment, since very few of them were following Hook's orders for promises of wealth. Their life was on the line and well they knew it after what had happened to Skylights. Fear alone kept them from voicing protests against certain things that any self-respecting buccaneer would not permit himself to go through. Such as Cookson's food, to which a great deal of them had not learned to deaden their tastebuds.

The Greek chef didn't cook well when he was nervous, and by now, Hook's recent behavior was beginning to frighten him. Whereas before, he would sing ridiculous rhymes to amuse himself (and others, so he believed), Eucrates Cookson remained silent unless spoken to, like everyone else. To the Redcoat prisoners, whom were all still with the company of pirates, this was a bitter relief. They knew that their time was soon coming to an end, as surely as the remainder of Hook's sanity was dangling over the edge of an abyss by one fraying thread.

Murphy, Turk, and One-Eye were the only men who did not seem perturbed at all. In fact, they didn't seem _anything. _Brine tried to ask One-Eye what Arizael had talked to Hook about, and received no answer but dull silence, and it was the same with the other two that had gone up with Hook. The Captain sat now, sipping a tureen of Cookson's goat stew without so much as flinching, and occasionally turning his claw to and fro to catch the firelight. It reflected darkly and shimmered like melting pitch when he did this. He smiled to himself every time. 

Arizael had indeed given him a great gift. However, she had put limitations on it; warning him not to use it on that which did not belong to him - such as his born enemies. The lost boys were Peter Pan's, she'd said. "You will not touch them with what I've granted you." The tone of her voice had left no room for argument. 

But surely, should Hook capture one of his young enemies, he had the right to kill the child. Might he not sate his curiosity and test the extent of power within his new weapon? And she had mentioned none of his _other_ enemies. That would be an entertaining experiment to go with supper. 

"Cookson!" he suddenly barked, causing a chill to run up along several spines. 

Upon hearing his name, the portly man dropped his soup ladle in dismay and jogged hurriedly past the huddled prisoners to the silver-haired pirate leader's side. "Aye, Capitan?" Cookson asked uncertainly. There was a bad feeling in his stomach, and it wasn't indigestion. 

"The soldiers. Bring one of them to me."

* * *

"Sssst."

John Waters felt his midshipman give a jolt beside him. "What was that?" Henry Oaks demanded fearfully.

"It was me, you daft oaf. Stop makin' noise." The bonds tied to the point of laceration about Captain Water's wrists began to loosen as the strands were frayed by a sawing knife. 

"Jeremy O'Dally?" whispered Ridley. "Thought you was dead, man."

"Got ways of keepin' alive," muttered a man informally known as Turncoat. "But not to say I didn't have help. I'd be long dead if not for a forgivin' lad. There, can you move or is the blood clotted?"

"I'd gladly crawl on stumps to get away from this place," hissed Ben Hughes.

"Well you won't be crawlin' anywhere if you don't get a move on." snapped Jeremy. He moved aside as the freed men made their way through the underbrush as silent as possible. It was to their highest advantage that the pirates did not hold them in high priority, otherwise they'd never have been left with Cookson for a guard. 

Crunching leaves announced the presence of the chef as he made his way back to the bubbling cauldron to bring Hook a prisoner. They stopped immediately as soon as their owner saw the cut ropes on the ground. "Hummus and feta! The Capitan is going to fricasee me in bad wine for this!"

Cookson stumbled over to the ropes, and rubbed his eyes as if they were fooling him. Then he picked up the ladle and began to thwack at the bushes. "Where are yous? Come out, no is funny joke!"

They were gone, and though he tried desperately to deny it, Cookson was going to be in Deep Stew if he returned to the Captain empty-handed. Grimly, the chef knew he had one choice. He'd been left in charge and so he should be the one who recaptured them. Brandishing his ladle in what he hoped was an threatening gesture, Eucrates put his best foot forward and marched off into the dark wood. 

* * *

Gleeful as ever, Peter frolicked through the skies, gutting the occasional cloud with his shining blade. To the lost boys he pursued, it was anything but a game. 

"How can Peter -" gasped one Twin.

"Still fly when he -" panted the other.

"Means us harm? That's not a happy thought!"

"Certainly not for us, but it would apparently thrill _him_!" Nibs retorted, his own lungs heaving from extertion and fear. 

"John!" shrieked a small pleading voice, lost somewhere among the puffed clouds. "Where are you?"

All six boys stopped in midair. "Oh no! Michael!" cried Curly. He turned to look at John only to find empty space. It also became quite evident that Peter was no longer chasing them. The eternal youth's attention had been drawn to easier prey. 

Frantic, the boys dove down in the fashion that John must have taken. Separation had never served them well, nor had cowardice. They were each afraid, but it was not in their character to abandon one of their own. 

John's arms were outstretched in front of Michael protectively, who instead of fleeing, stubbornly clung to his older brother's coat-tails. "Stay away from him!" the middle Darling child quavered. Peter smirked. 

"I was always in favor of play before work." He sheathed the golden blade at his side and pitched forward. John grunted as booted feet connected with his stomach, driving the air from his lungs. Michael was also knocked back by the impact, but managed to keep ahold of John. Which may not have been a good thing, for Peter Pan was by no means finished. His knuckles dug into the soft flesh of John's throat as he grabbed the younger boy's collar, but the drawn back fist never reached its target. 

Peter swiveled his head to glare at Bill Jukes who was holding his wrist in an unshakable grip. "Let go of me!" he raged. 

"When Jack douses his latern, cully." 

"Wrong answer, Jukes!" Peter released John to flail out with his other fist. The pirate almost didn't block the hit in time, but when he did it left his side vulnerable for a kick. "I don't want you, pirate! The others are mine and you won't interfere," he snarled as each grappled to subdue the other. Peter managed to twist free and drew his blade upon seeing Slightly fly toward him. "So, you come willingly?" Peter paused to slam the handle of his sword savagely into Billy's ribs, punishment for attempting to sneak up on him twice. 

The gypsy choked, doubled over, and focused past the pain to stay afloat. 

Satisfied, Peter turned back to deal with Slightly. The lost boy brandished a dagger and Peter sneered. "You disappoint me. I had thought you were being sensible. But then, that wouldn't have been very fun, now would it?"

He slashed at the lost boy too quickly for normal reflexes to kick in, but to his amazement, Slightly was already moving aside and the blade cleaved air. The lost boy was just as astonished, though he managed to hide it well. The same phantom that had been plaguing him was suddenly proving very useful. 

"Hold still, so I can 'knight' you," Peter yelled, his anger making him sloppy. An opening appeared. Before Slightly quite understood what he was doing, his dagger was slicing across Peter's shoulder. Fat droplets of black blood floated into the air and were carried away by wind currents. Pan drifted back a space to inspect his wound and looked with something akin to respect at Slightly. "Very well then. You go last. Let's see if you can save the others."

Peter's sight fell on Curly who whimpered and backed up against Nibs. But before the cat and mouse game could begin anew, a voice rose up and froze the players. "Don't you _touch _them!" Wendy's black hair flew wildly about her face as she placed herself between Peter and her boys. "Please, you must fight this, Peter! Don't let Arizael take over you!"

"What are you _talking_ about Wendy? Nobody can take over me!" 

_Stupid girl . . . _Slightly closed his eyes tightly. _Not now_, he hissed back. He could see a crowd gathering below them, faces upturned and helpless. None of them seemed to know what to do, though several faint voices were commanding for the children to come down at once and hide themselves beneath sheltering arms. It was a false promise; Peter would cut through anyone who stood in his path. This way, at least no grownups would sacrifice their lives needlessly. 

"You're attacking your own friends! How can you say she's not controlling you?"

"She's helping me, Wendy," Peter replied, but his voice sounded unsure. "There's going to be a war. Between us and Hook's men. Nobody can stray in the middle; we need to rally together and defeat him!"

Wendy shook her head. "Peter, you don't know what you're saying. You may think you do, but you don't. Arizael's tricked you into thinking this is the right thing to do."

"It is the right thing to do. She told me I needed to open your eyes. And that's precisely what I shall do."

"Wendy!" Nibs screamed in warning as Peter's sword flashed. Wendy gasped as the colder-as-death steel pierced her heart, flooding her senses with darkness. 

"Peter," she whispered in a small, lost voice and reached up shakily to touch the sticky red blade. John sobbed aloud and turned to cover Michael's face. Nibs gave a shout of rage and darted towards Peter. Something spurred Slightly into intercepting the lost boy before he could reach Peter. Whether or not this was Slightly's motive or his parasite's, it was a fortunate thing for Nibs that he'd been stopped, for Wendy did not die. She calmly pulled herself off the blade, looking none the worse for wear despite the bloodstains on her pink dress. 

Only, there was no longer any light in her eyes. Tenderly, Peter stroked her face. "So you see, Wendy? It won't kill them. And it only hurts for a second or two."

Slowly, the girl nodded. Her hand went to the dagger at Peter's belt. Nib's dagger; which he had stolen off the lost boy in their last encounter. "I'll help you," she replied back evenly. Peter chuckled fondly and let her take the weapon. 

"That will kill them if you aren't careful. Just make certain you drive them to me."

"Wendy?" Tootles quavered. John held Michael tightly and drifted toward where the other lost boys were clumped. 

Peter smiled at them and threw his head back, letting out another of his crows. It made the very sun wish to put out its flames forever. The lost boys scattered in all directions. Slightly cried aloud, heart overwhelmed with fear, confusion, and the knowledge that he was going to lose his friends. He bolted after Curly and Tootles who disappeared ahead of him into the forest. "Slightly, wait!" Jukes yelped after him. Still holding the knife, Wendy made a thin sound of frustration as her eyes tried and failed to keep track of where the boys were all disappearing to. 

"There's not a place they can hide that will be safe from me. Come on, let's go after your brothers first." Shooting a contemptous glower at Billy as he passed, the brown-clad youth flew east, Wendy in tow. Heartsick for all of them, Billy felt himself being weighted down as he followed Slightly. A hand shot up and gripped his arm from below and he was born down by none other than Maegie. "Where are you going!?" she cried, eyes bright with tears. "I'll not let you leave without me! You'll get into no end of trouble!"

"Tell the villagers to hide their children," Billy commanded. "Peter will return for them too --"

"I'll tell them no such thing!" Maegie shouted, stamping her foot. "I'm going with you! I want to help!"

He was running out of time. Already he could see the top of Robert Mullins' hat making a furious path toward him. Once he was in sight of his older shipmate, there would be no talk of helping the others. Not after what had happened on Witch's Peak. Robert would sooner settle down and marry than let him stick out his neck for lost boys. Knowing full well he'd catch the rope's end for it later, Jukes hefted Maegie up into his arms and flew off into the woods. 

* * *

_Peter went after John and Michael because they can't go as fast, _Slightly mused to himself. Or not himself, since it seemed lately that there were two beings in his body and that it was undoubtedly listening. _But Nibs is with them, and nothing ever happens to him, so he'll protect them. It's up to me to rescue Curly and Tootles. Oh, and I wish I knew where the Twins went, but perhaps Billy . . . that boy cares only about finding you; he'd leave the rest of your friends to fester. _

Slightly grit his teeth. _I've HAD it with you - whoever you are - talking that way about people who haven't done slightly anything to you!_

The voice gave no reply, and it was just as well that it didn't because he had to focus on listening for his friends. Nothing but the scolding and singing of birds greeted his ears. After several confusing tricks of shadow and sunlight, Slightly was ready to weep in frustration when he heard a far off cry for help. His heart leaped as he recognized its hapless owner. 

"I'm coming Tootles!" he called back, dodging between trees. Tootles' frightened voice had taken on an air of wild joy upon hearing Slightly and he continued to shout, leading the older lost boy further in his direction. Finally, the two saw each other and gave exclamations of relief. Tootles had been caught by a pirate trap after losing sight of Curly. Slightly tried in vain to recall the trick Jukes had taught him for getting out of vine nets. Impatiently, he resorted to the dagger and carefully cut a way out for the smaller lost boy. 

"Where are we going now?" Tootles asked, once free. 

"To find the others. There's only one place in Neverland Peter will never go, and that's King Kyros' mountain."

"But . . . what if he doesn't let us in? He put up that barrier to keep _everyone_ out!"

Slightly had seen the barrier Tootles was speaking of; it rose around the mountain like a dome, looking deceptively smooth. But barbs of ice waited on the surface that would pierce anyone of flesh who strove to gain entrance. "He has to! He slightly respects Great Big Little Panther; maybe if we tell him we're under his protection --"

"An excellent suggestion, me lad."

Tootles screamed a warning just as several pairs of hands gripped Slightly's legs, yanking him to earth. "Fly, Tootles! Fly for your life! Hook's men!"

Slightly could say no more after that, for Hook's gloved hand shoved a hankerchief into his mouth until he gagged, and then twisted the boy's arm behind his back. "Indeed, fly away," sneered Hook. "Tell Peter this is one lost boy he'll never recruit." 

Heart beating like a frightened mouse's, Tootles had only to look at Slightly's urgent expression and the hand going to the pistol at One-Eye's belt to take off. "How fitting," Hook was saying, as if enjoying the taste of each word. "That my crew and I would pick up an enemy's pawn while simply out in search for a wayward cookswain and four worthless Red-Coats. Someone must clearly be on our side."

Voices approached and Hook gestured to his men with a curt nod. They all blended into underbrush and shadow, dragging Slightly along with them. The boy dug his heels into the soft earth as he too recognized the approaching voices. He tried to force the gag out of his mouth to warn them, but his efforts were in vain. Slightly's breath hitched as he was dropped onto his back, something pressing down on him heavily. It soon became clear that Hook had no intention of lying an ambush. Though cunningly hidden, his men were not in ready position to attack at the given order. 

Hook grinned at the boy pinned underneath his boot and placed a finger to his lips. 

* * *

"Zeus!" Cookson was busily cursing at the top of his lungs as he tried to yank his boot out of the snare. Not one of his own, he soon surmised, but that hadn't stopped him from admiring the handiwork for the first handful of seconds. The fun soon ended when he realized that he could not get out of it. "Snares is for dumb animals, not smart cook-person! Maybe is cannibals what set this trap!"

This prospect did nothing at all to raise the chef's morale, but sent him struggling to extract his foot all the more desperately. The chef's troubles were instantly over in a lovely burst of stars as something came down forcefully on his noggin. 

"There, now," Thomas Ridley dusted off his hands in satisfaction. "That'll teach him. Who knew the bloke was such a good tracker? He's been on our tails since after midday."

"Doesn't matter anymore." Henry rumbled, flexing his muscles. "O'Dally, you've the only firearm. Gank him for us."

"Nah, that ain't necessary."

"What?! Come off it, man, this brigand'll wake up and follow our trail! Eager to stuff more of his disgusting swill into us, I shan't wager against." Ben Hughes put in.

But Jeremy shook his head. "Ain't no need for killin'. I saw what Hook did to Skylights; there's been enough of that madness. This one's got information anyhow. He can track you say? Then he knows the land better than we do. We'd only get lost on our own."

John Waters saw the logic if not the kindness in this statement. "Very well, we take him with us. Henry, you carry the man."

"What?! Why me?"

"You're always throwin' around your biceps when things don't go your way, so use 'em," Ridley suggested, and nimbly ducked a swipe at his head. Henry grumbled bitterly, but complied. He shouldered his burden and the six men were on the move once more.

* * *

"You musn't cling to me so. It's hard to walk," Billy murmured. Maegie obediently let go of his arm and the sudden absence made his hand dart out to grab hers. "But you don't have to let go completely."

"Billy . . ."

He turned to gaze at her while they walked. Jukes could no longer hold her and fly at once; he was having a hard enough time keeping himself in the air. But he hadn't the heart to send her back to the village. Certainly not when Peter could return and . . . 

"Don't cry," he told her firmly. Maegie's shoulders were shaking pitifully. He gathered her into an embrace, despite the voice railing that he was going to lose all hope of finding Slightly if he took the time to comfort her. He ignored it; hope for that was pretty much nonexistent anyway at this point. Billy knew they'd lost the trail the moment his feet touched the forest floor and refused to lift again. Seeing her misery made his heart sink even lower. "Please, don't cry."

"How can I not?" she wept. "I'm frightened and . . . and I don't know how to help but I _want_ to . . ."

"I know exactly how you feel," Jukes tried to soothe. He didn't have the words to continue. 

"I feel as if I should have stayed behind, but I know things wouldn't have been any different if I had. And now to top it all off, I'm crying my eyes out like a child!"

He smiled, almost bitterly. "Maegie, we _are_ children. Somewhere in our lives, we were told it wasn't allright to be that way. The people who said so did us wrong."

She raised her tear streaked face to meet his gaze. His fingers had somehow become occupied without his permission to brush stray leaves and twigs from her hair. "Will you . . . when all this is over, will you teach me how to fly like you?" Maegie had always meant to ask him before. Things had just gotten in the way ahead of it. 

Billy nodded. "I'll teach you sooner than that," he promised. His lips brushed against her forehead, and he pulled back, more than a little embarrassed. But not ever regretful. "For now we best do what we can on foot. I can't go back to the village if there's a chance that Slightly's in trouble."

"Me neither. And besides, we've lost our way. Unless you're an expert at tree climbing." She mumbled. Maegie fought against the temptation of touching her brow, lest he think she was wiping away the kiss. 

He peered up at the towering Nevergreens. "Not likely I'll be scaling those. We've got nowhere to go but in the sun's direction."

"Then let's hope it takes us where we need to be." Maegie wrapped her fingers around his palm once more. The two walked from that place unharmed. 

"And where you need to be, dear boy, is where I shall soon follow," Hook vowed under his breath. Slightly heard him quite plainly. "Not now, but soon. First, I've a little pawn to deal with." 

Slightly dug his nails into the damp earth and fought back his sobs.

**  
To Be Continued . . .  
**


End file.
